The Blood of a Sinner
by xx-Twisted Fantasy-xx
Summary: We are weak. We are strong. We are sad. We are proud. We are victims. We are sinners. A deadly game, where only the wicked survive.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or any of the quotes people might find in this story.**

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><p><em>Welcome to the first chapter of my SYOT story, which I''m sure you're all familiar with, but just in case you're not. . . . The concept is simple: You submit a tribute using the form below, in a review, not a PM, and I read over the form. Depending on how crappy the tribute is, I may or may not accept him or her. Just a side note, I love a good Career, the crazier the better! I'll try to update once or twice every two weeks, if I can. And now I'll go over a few rules, just for good measure.<em>

_**Rule Un:** You must send me the tribute in a review, I hate having to look at these forms in Private Messages, I tend to lose them by accidental deletion, it's nothing against your tribute, I'm just irresponsible. _

_**Rule Deux:** I will not accept any Sue's or Stu's unless I'm in desperate need for a final tribute—and even then, I will promise you that they'll die a grisly death in the Bloodbath. I'm thinking buckets of blood and gore and guts. . . Demented, isn't it?_

_**Rule Trois:** No repeat-tributes. I want originals. And while we're on this topic, be detailed. I'm talkin' full sentences with descriptions. I fucking hate it when I get forms with four words under the personality section. The longer the submission, the better!_

_**Rule Quatre:** Put the word **Demon** at the bottom of your review, just so I know you read this._

**_Rule Cing:_**_Three tributes per person-and I'm accepting Bloodbaths._

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><p><strong>~Form~<strong>

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><p><strong>Name:<strong>

**Age:**

**District:**

**Personality: **_(I want sentences—at least nine of them.)_

**Appearance: **_(Hair color, eye color, height, weight, and so on.)_

**History: **_(Nothing that will remind me of Little Orphan Annie.)_

**Strengths: **_(Four maximum, your tribute isn't superman.)_

**Weaknesses: **_(Three minimum.)_

**Fears:**

**Allies: **_(Are they open to them, and if they are, with what type of person?)_

**Romance:**_ (Just a yes or no. Not everyone will get one.)_

**Friends: **_(Name, age, and basic personality will do.)_

**Family: **_(The same goes for this, too.)_

**Reaped or Volunteered: **_(Think about it. Does the District have a lot of volunteers? I don't want any __Katniss'.)_

**Reaction:**

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><p><strong><em>And I guess that's it! Have fun submitting!<em>**


	2. The Human Sacrifices: Part I

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that I didn't already come up with.**

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><p><em>Okay, I've reviewed every tribute that got sent to me so far, and I've liked all of them for one reason or the other, and I've come up with this first draft of the tribute list. I still need a lot of 'em though, so feel free to send some more in—remember, the limit is three, unless someone decides to make a few Bloodbaths, which would be greatly appreciated. And if your tribute wasn't selected, you could make another one.<em>

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><p><strong>~Tribute List, Part l~<strong>

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><p><strong>District 1:<strong>

Female: Angelina Devon **_(She seems ruthless and insane—I love it!)_**

Male: OPEN

**District 2:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 3:**

Female: OPEN

Male: Clint Manti **_(Paranoia huh? That should be fun to write about...)_**

**District 4:**

Female: Fawn Nolan **_(She seems to have a well-rounded personality, and her form was very detailed.)_**

Male: Cameron Knight **_(I like that he's only sadistic _sometimes._)_**

**District 5:**

Female: Autumn Coville **_(I just love her personality—I'm going to have fun writing insults for her!)_**

Male: Ransom Sage **_(Another detailed form, which I appreciate—I definitely want you to make another tribute.)_**

**District 6:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 7:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 8:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 9:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 10:**

Female: Rowena Wilder **_(Her history was average. I liked that about her.)_**

Male: OPEN

**District 11:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 12:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

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><p><em>So... that's my first tribute list—sorry if your tribute didn't make it. Remember, keep submitting—I can't wait to start the reapings. Also, if your tribute was on the list, I'd like you to come up with a theme song for them, it can be any song you want, it'll help me write them better though, so I'd like to get them ASAP. Thanks!<em>


	3. The Human Sacrifices: Part II

**Disclaimer: I don't own the tributes or The Hunger Games.**

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><p><em>Wow! I got a lot of submissions, thanks guys! I'm still waiting for theme songs, but, admittedly, I should have put that on the form. Oops. Here's the second tribute list, I put in one or two of my own tributes to hurry the process along a bit, but they definitely won't win. And, as a heads up, I had to move a few tributes due to conflicting positions, but I kept them as close to their intended district as I could.<em>

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><p><strong>~Tribute List, Part ll~<strong>

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><p><strong>District 1:<strong>

Female: Angelina Devon _**(She seems ruthless and insane—I love it!)**_

Male: Scout Penumbra _**(Love his Career mentality, and I hope is okay I moved him, I already had a form for a D2 male.)**_

**District 2:**

Female: Mercy Tenebrae _**(Made by me.)**_

Male: Adrian Perham _**(I love the fact that he's so superstitious, it's unique.)**_

**District 3:**

Female: Sukara "Suka" Ravo _**(I hope D3 is alright, since it's not typically a Career District.)**_

Male: Clint Manti _**(Paranoia huh? That should be fun to write about...)**_

**District 4:**

Female: Fawn Nolan _**(She seems to have a well-rounded personality, and her form was very detailed.)**_

Male: Cameron Knight _**(I like that he's only sadistic **_**sometimes.**_**)**_

**District 5:**

Female: Autumn Coville _**(I just love her personality—I'm going to have fun writing insults for her!)**_

Male: Ransom Sage _**(Another detailed form, which I appreciate—I definitely want you to make another tribute.)**_

**District 6:**

Female: OPEN

Male: Fallon Zeider _**(Sorry I had to move him. Is D6 okay?)**_

**District 7:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 8:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 9:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 10:**

Female: Rowena Wilder _**(Her history was average. I liked that about her.)**_

Male: OPEN

**District 11:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 12:**

Female: Clara Hellebore _**(Made by me, yet again.)**_

Male: OPEN

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><p><em>I'm hoping to get the reapings done in two chapters, Districts 1-6 and then Districts 7-12, as soon as I get a District 6 female, I'll write the first official chapter.<em>


	4. The Human Sacrifices: Part III

**Disclaimer: I don't own most of the tributes or The Hunger Games, sadly.**

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><p><em>And the third list... only four more open slots! Feel free to submit Bloodbaths to lower the initial death toll. And thank you to everyone who came up with another tribute, I love them!<em>

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><p><strong>~Tribute List, Part lll~<strong>

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><p><strong>District 1:<strong>

Female: Angelina Devon _**(She seems ruthless and insane—I love it!)**_

Male: Scout Penumbra _**(Love his Career mentality, and I hope is okay I moved him, I already had a form for a D2 male.)**_

**District 2:**

Female: Mercy Tenebrae _**(Made by me.)**_

Male: Adrian Perham _**(I love the fact that he's so superstitious, it's unique.)**_

**District 3:**

Female: Sukara "Suka" Ravo _**(I hope D3 is alright, since it's not typically a Career District.)**_

Male: Clint Manti _**(Paranoia huh? That should be fun to write about...)**_

**District 4:**

Female: Fawn Nolan _**(She seems to have a well-rounded personality, and her form was very detailed.)**_

Male: Cameron Knight _**(I like that he's only sadistic **_**sometimes.**_**)**_

**District 5:**

Female: Autumn Coville _**(I just love her personality—I'm going to have fun writing insults for her!)**_

Male: Ransom Sage _**(Another detailed form, which I appreciate—I definitely want you to make another tribute.)**_

**District 6:**

Female: Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime _**( love her name—it's so interesting.)**_

Male: Fallon Zeider _**(Sorry I had to move him. Is D6 okay?)**_

**District 7:**

Female: Almandine Bandica _**(I loved your description of her personality—it was priceless! And is it okay if she is in D7?)**_

Male: Beech Lignum _**(He seems like an average person, so I like him.)**_

**District 8:**

Female: Drizzle Plont _**(Did I get their genders right? I wasn't too sure about them on the form, but I like them both.)**_

Male: Skylark Plont _**(See above.)**_

**District 9:**

Female: OPEN

Male: OPEN

**District 10:**

Female: Rowena Wilder _**(Her history was average. I liked that about her.)**_

Male: OPEN

**District 11:**

Female: Lily Florez _**(I love that she hates veggies!)**_

Male: OPEN

**District 12:**

Female: Clara Hellebore _**(Made by me, yet again.)**_

Male: Brandon Carl Kindle _**(I love his personality!)**_

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><p><em>I'm currently writing out Angelina's POV, I hope to get done the first chapter within a day or so, I'm excited to finish it!<em>


	5. The Human Sacrifices: Part IV

**Disclaimer: I don't have a copyright for this stuff...**

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><p><em>This is the final tribute list, and as there are to empty spots I've filled them with Bloodbath tributes—in addition to those I got. They won't have a POV other than in the reapings.<em>

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><p><strong>~Final List~<strong>

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><p><strong>District 1:<strong>

Female: Angelina Devon _**(She seems ruthless and insane—I love it!)**_

Male: Scout Penumbra _**(Love his Career mentality, and I hope is okay I moved him, I already had a form for a D2 male.)**_

**District 2:**

Female: Mercy Tenebrae _**(Made by me.)**_

Male: Adrian Perham _**(I love the fact that he's so superstitious, it's unique.)**_

**District 3:**

Female: Sukara "Suka" Ravo _**(I hope D3 is alright, since it's not typically a Career District.)**_

Male: Clint Manti _**(Paranoia huh? That should be fun to write about...)**_

**District 4:**

Female: Fawn Nolan _**(She seems to have a well-rounded personality, and her form was very detailed.)**_

Male: Cameron Knight _**(I like that he's only sadistic **_**sometimes.**_**)**_

**District 5:**

Female: Autumn Coville _**(I just love her personality—I'm going to have fun writing insults for her!)**_

Male: Ransom Sage _**(Another detailed form, which I appreciate—I definitely want you to make another tribute.)**_

**District 6:**

Female: Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime _**(I love her name—it's so interesting.)**_

Male: Fallon Zeider _**(Sorry I had to move him. Is D6 okay?)**_

**District 7:**

Female: Almandine Bandica _**(I loved your description of her personality—it was priceless! And is it okay if she is in D7?)**_

Male: Beech Lignum _**(He seems like an average person, so I like him.)**_

**District 8:**

Female: Drizzle Plont _**(Did I get their genders right? I wasn't too sure about them on the form, but I like them both.)**_

Male: Skylark Plont _**(See above.)**_

**District 9:**

Female: Fern Gresham _**(I liked how detailed your form was. Thanks for that!)**_

Male: Kale Anson _**(Bloodbath.)**_

**District 10:**

Female: Rowena Wilder _**(Her history was average. I liked that about her.)**_

Male: Max Bane _**(Bloodbath.)**_

**District 11:**

Female: Lily Florez _**(I love that she hates veggies!)**_

Male: Bengal _**(I never thought of D11 citizens as having no surname. Interesting...)**_

**District 12:**

Female: Clara Hellebore _**(Made by me, yet again.)**_

Male: Brandon Carl Kindle _**(I love his personality!)**_

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><p><em>I'm halfway through the D2 reapings...<em>


	6. Bloodthirsty

**Disclaimer: I don't own most of the tributes, the lyrics, or The Hunger Games.**

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><p><em>Here is the first set of reapings. (District 1-2) I was going to do it in two chapters, but I really wanted to get this up ASAP, so... I'll be doing more reaping chapters. It's less overwhelming that way. Thanks for everyone who made tributes, I hope I do them justice. And if I didn't, tell me. I'm particularly worried about Adrian, so I hope he's okay. Okay, without further adieu, here is the first official chapter!<em>

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><p><strong>~The Reapings, District 1 through 2~<strong>

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><p>District 1: Angelina Devon<p>

_Then when I'm thirsty, I drink their blood  
>Carnivore animal, I am a Cannibal <em>

_~Ke$ha, Cannibal~_

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><p>"I think I'm going to volunteer," Alonna muses, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger.<p>

I glare at her. She _knows_ I'm planning on volunteering this year. "Really? Because I thought we agreed that I'd volunteer this year, I said that you could _next_ year. You know, _after_ I win."

She frowns, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her shirt.

"_Well?" _I demand, crushing a plastic drinking straw between my fingers. A geyser of juice flies upward, hitting Alonna in the face and staining her brand-new blouse.

"I, uh, thought about that... and, well, I decided that _you _could volunteer next year."

"I. Don't. Think. So." I tell her carefully.

She looks down at her shirt, as if she's just noticing the huge orange splotch for the first time. "Angel, I love this blouse, it cost me thirty dollars!"

"I know." That's why I ruined it. Alonna and I spent the entire day yesterday shopping for new reaping outfits. My parents had given me eighty dollars and Alonna had only gotten thirty-five. The shirt originally cost forty bucks, but she bargained with the shopkeeper. And by bargained, of _course_ I mean flirted. The guy had been pretty hot, too, and he wasn't paying any attention to me, like, _at all! _And I couldn't have that, could I?

"Honestly Angelina, do you care about anyone besides yourself?" Alonna looks at me with something like anger in her eyes.

"No," I lie smoothly. _"Obviously_ I care about plenty of people. _Duh."_

"Name three," says Alonna. "At _least."_

I randomly pick three names out of my head, figuring that the last one will make her pretty happy. "My mom, because she gave me money for this dress." I point to it, a sparkly pink number that just barely covers my thighs, let alone my chest. "That hot guy over there, because, well, _look_ at hi—"

"You mean Erik?" She asks, gesturing towards the blonde boy I mentioned.

I nod.

"I went out with him last night, Angelina!"

I glance at the boy one more time. He has the the best-looking face I've ever seen—the only exception is mine, but that's a total give-in. His bone structure is awesome, and we'd look like a great couple, especially because his blue eye provide a slight contrast to my green ones. Yup, we'd be perfect together and the more I think about it, the more I realize that this Erik-person and Alonna are totally wrong for each other. She's stupid to even think that he'd like her better than he would like me.

"Well, he'll go out with me after I get back from kicking ass and taking names in the Hunger Games," I smile to myself, happy that I'm clever enough to come up with a rhyme off the top of my head like that.

"Funny." Alonna says, smirking. "Who's that unlucky third person that you care about?"

"You." I put a self-righteous expression on my face.

She doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Why?"

"Because we've been best friends since, like, forever." I roll my eyes at her.

"Like I really believe _that!" _says Alonna with a snort.

"Suit yourself," I grin at her, a devious glint in my eyes.

"I will!"

I stand up, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress and picking at a scab on my elbow. I always seem to get them whenever I scratch my skin, and even I have to admit that they look a little unsightly.

I then proceed to drag Alonna out of her seat, she whines in protest, and her chair tips over, a clattering noise follows it.

"Angelina!" she protests, pulling her arm back. "You're making a mess!"

I look at the table and its two matching chairs. Both are made of metal, and only one is lying on the ground, an arm half-buried in the dirt. The table is littered with those fancy napkins they give you, proclaiming the name of the café, _Sparkling Wonder_, in a swirly script. They are sopping wet, absorbing an unhealthy portion of my smoothie. And even then, it's still making a puddle on the sidewalk.

I shrug. "I don't see the problem."

"We're going to have to clean it up!"

"No we're not," I tap the worn watch that she always wears. It's ugly and brown and falling apart. "We have to get to the reaping."

I pull her in the direction of the square before she can come up with another excuse—she will _not_ ruin my day, not if she knows what's good for her.

**ѮѼѮ**

The town square is filled to the brim with District 1 citizens, who are chatting animatedly and happily, taking bets on this year's volunteers. Rex Lusterfeld is the man in charge of the betting pool, and I march up to him, Alonna in tow. He makes eye contact with me and holds out his hand expectantly, a greedy gleam in his eyes.

I place a hefty amount of cash in his palm.

"For who?" he asks in a gravelly voice.

"Me, of course." I answer confidently, giving him my most brilliant smile.

He raises an eyebrow, a questioning look on his face. "Really? I thought your brother was the volunteer for the Devon family."

I plant my hands on my hips. "Who gave you that idea?"

"Your brother."

Well, I had taken care of _that. _"He lied, I'm the volunteer, not him."

"Well, that's not what—"

"I don't _care _about what he said!" I stomp my feet, and my voice rises in pitch. "I'm the volunteer!_ Me, me, me, me!_ Got it?"

He doesn't respond, but he makes sure he has a firm hold on the money before backing away.

That word echoes again and again in my head.

_Me._

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><p>District 1: Scout Penumbra<p>

_I'm your Night Prowler, make a mess of you, yes I will  
>Night Prowler, and I am telling this to you<br>There ain't nothing you can do_

_~AC/DC, Night Prowler~_

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><p>I look out my window, watching as large groups of people file into the roped-off sections of the square.<p>

I see a lot of people I know, mainly the kids who bullied me when I was younger. They were all idiots—every last fucking one of them. They wouldn't know a lie if it smacked them in the face, especially Corey Cane and Grey Wist, two of the biggest guys I know. They used to hate each other in grade school, when I convinced them to beat the living shit out of each other. Strangely, after they realized what had happened, they became fairly close. Though instead of making fun of me, they lowered the self-esteem of the other kids.

I made them friends.

And here I am, sitting in my room all alone.

I shake my head, reminding myself that I have absolutely no interest in being friends with anyone in my district. Nobody around here could hold up their end of an intellectual conversation, their heads are filled with dead weight, thinking only of diamonds and money and romance—stupid shit like that. The things I have very little patience for.

"Scout!" a nasally voices calls out, snapping me out of reverie. "Time to go!"

I suppress a sigh. "Coming Kaleb!"

My ten year-old brother is the only one I can stand to be around at times, he hasn't been corrupted by the superficial air of our district yet, and for that I'm thankful.

I'm reluctant to actually make the effort to move from my spot. The reapings are boring and horrifically mundane, a routine event I'm forced to go to year in and year out. Last year's had been particularly dull, our two tributes had been Crystal Flutter, a thin and air-headed girl, and Gould Wells, a boy who's only strength was just that—his muscles.

Well, I knew right away that District 1 would not be hosting the Victory Banquet that year. I predicted that Gould would poison himself and Crystal would get her throat slit in the middle of the night.

And it went down almost exactly like that, the only discrepancy was that Crystal actually got bludgeoned to death in the middle of the night, her head split open by District 2's latest victor, Gabriel Ashford.

I laugh quietly to myself, at least I found out she wasn't _completely_ brainless...

"_Scout,"_ Kaleb whines, "we don't have the time for this!"

He hits the door with about as much force as a mouse, and I get up from my perch near the window, glancing at the clock as I make my way to the other side of the room.

2 'o clock.

_Crap._

I open the door to find Kaleb standing there, hand poised to knock yet again. He looks like a toddler, rather than a school-age kid. Blonde hair and chubby cheeks—the picture of innocence.

"Ready to go?" I ask, trying my best to sound sincere.

He considers this for a moment. "Um, _yeah!"_

"Move it, then."

I follow him as he breaks into a run and flies through the door.

**ѮѼѮ**

Kaleb pushes past a bunch of people, not bothering to say sorry, not that I mind.

We are almost there, I can see my mother standing on the outskirts of the reaping pens. She is making conversation with a woman I know of as Jewel Devon, mother of this year's standard volunteer, Jordan, and still grieving over the death of her youngest daughter, Abbi. No one knows how that little girl died, it's a mystery...

And then I hear a loud, "Hey!"

I turn around and see Kaleb smack into Grey, who looks pissed off. I'm tempted to go over there and reduce Grey into a blubbering mess, courtesy of a mental breakdown, but my mom catches sight of this as well. And lets just say she's over-protective of "her babies" and that's putting it mildly.

A smile spreads across his ugly face. "Hey, you're Scout's brother."

"So?"

"_So_, whats it like living with an untrustworthy asshole?"

"He's not an untrustworthy asshole, you're a dickwad!" Kaleb glares at Grey, who smirks back at him.

"Really? I bet he takes money from your parents and blames it on you."

Before Kaleb can come up with a rebuttal, Mom marches up to them and grabs Kaleb, shielding him from Grey's stupidity with her arms.

"What's going on here?" She demands as I walk away, and I can't hide the smile that crosses my face. That's what he gets for messing with me.

I find the pen for the eighteen year-olds. It's always located to the left of Shimmer Dye's jewelery shop. I take my spot in the front of the pack, next to a girl with unnaturally long brown hair and a boy whose name is Shadow. I pretend not to notice when the brunette takes a huge step away from me, nearly bumping into the person standing next to her.

Our mayor comes onstage and begins The Speech, as Kaleb and I call it. He also reads from the list of past victors, we've had ten and eight of them are still kicking. He then proceeds to introduce out escort, Mare Bobble, who is neither a man or a woman and has bright orange tattoos and yellowish hair.

"Hello District 1!" He/she shouts as if we are all deaf.

A few dim-wits actually cheer, and I don't even pretend to care.

"Let's get this thing started, shall we?" he/she walks over to the girl's reaping ball and retrieves a slip of paper.

"Crimson Ire!"

"I volunteer!" a girl shouts, pushing past several others who are standing there open-mouthed.

She just about makes it to the stage, when a shrill screams blows up in the air.

"_You little fame whore!"_

Uh oh. Bitch fight.

A girl with short hair and scabby arms emerges from her designated section. Her name is Angelina Devon, and she is one crazy bitch.

Said crazy bitch descends on the girl and starts punching her in the back, she kind of reminds me of a manic kangaroo... At any rate, she is a horrible fighter. Angelina has absolutely no tact and she attacks her victims blindly and without cause, or at least a legitimate one. Of course, she's still kicking the crap out of the poor would-be volunteer, so I have to assume that she'll get _somewhere_ in the Games.

Angelina rushes onto the platform, smiling like she didn't just mow down a defenseless girl. My bet is she'll be the first one to go cannibal in the arena.

"I volunteer!"

The escort rolls his/her eyes. "So you've told us. What makes you think you can be this year's victor?" A standard question. Potential volunteers used to have to go through an entire interview process, but we got rid of that in the recent years.

She thinks it over for all of one second. "I'm smart, kind, pretty, and perfect."

"O-kay." Mare holds up Angelina's hand. "Meet the first official volunteer for the seventy-third Hunger Games! Um..."

"Angelina," she fills in pointedly. "Devon."

"Angelina Devon!"

Mare moves to the last reaping ball—the one for males—and shoves his/her hand in. He/she reads the slip aloud "Come on up... Scout Penumbra!"

I half-expect some dipshit to volunteer to take my place, but nobody comes forward.

Crap.

I can't fight... someone like Grey could kill my ass in ten second flat. How am I supposed to do this? I feel tears forming behind my eyes. I can't cry... I have to stop it.

_It's okay, Scout._ I tell myself. _You're smart, you can do this. You _will_ win._

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><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

_She seems dressed in all the rings... of past fatalities  
>So fragile, yet so devious - she continues to see<br>climatic hands that press her temples and my chest  
><em>

_~Slipknot, Vermilion~_

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><p>I'm awakened by the sound of his screams.<p>

At first, I feel the overwhelming need to hit him, but then I open my eyes and see just how bad this one actually is.

He's shouting and his arms are flailing every which way and if he doesn't shut up soon, James will come in and that is _not_ an option. And, besides, if this gets any worse I'm going to actually feel concerned, and that's worse than James' wrath.

I sigh and attempt to get a hold of his arms, but I can't. He's moving around way too much and I can't even get a good grip _one_ of his wrists, let alone two of them. I don't see any other option, I have to roll over and actually _pinion_ him to the bed, and he's _still_ fighting me. I guess I should be glad he isn't sleeping with a knife as if it's his teddy bear, then I'd be in major trouble. I still can't get over the fact that he did that the first few nights he returned home—it was like his fucking security blanket.

"Gabriel," I whisper, not bothering to hide my irritation. "Shut the hell up!"

I get another scream as my answer.

I dig my fingernails into the flesh on his wrists, and red marks appear almost immediately. Damn it! Now he's going to bring this up every time we argue... I put that out of my head for a minute, thinking of other ways to silence him instead. I decide to try the rarely used "nicer approach" Iona is always babbling about.

I put my my lips next to his ear. "Wake up, Gabriel, it's alright."

But I'm lying, because in the next second James—my moronic and over-protective older brother—barges into my bedroom.

He looks like he just put his head in a blender, his dark hair is a total mess and he seems angry as hell, probably because I woke him up, that's his main reason for acting like a pissy little girl. Either way, it doesn't give him the right to slam the door and disrupt the peace—actually, his entrance got Gabriel to wake up...

I watch his reaction with a smug expression on my face. He tries to sit up, but he can't since I'm quite literally on top of him, and he still doesn't realize that he's not inside of his nightmare anymore.

Moments like these were priceless.

"What the fuck is going _on_ in here?"

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have said what I did.

"I don't know James... what _would_ two teenagers be doing in bed on a Saturday morning?"

James marches over to my bed and literally lifts me off of my best friend. The douche. "Whatever it is, he has five seconds to get out of here before I crush his jaw."

Gabe blinks, rubs his eyes, and finally catches sight of James. I highly doubt that he even knew what my brother was bitching about, but her rushes out of the room via my window—the same way he came in.

"Why would you do that? We weren't doing anything."

"I don't really care what you two were doing because if mom and dad were home that little shit wouldn't be alive right now." There's an unspoken challenge in the air, he's daring me to contradict him.

I roll my eyes. "Cut him some slack, he was having another bad dream."

"Oh." says James. That's it. _Oh._

Of course, this is utter bullshit, I don't really care about his nightmares, as bad as it may sound. Gabriel and I spent years training to be part of the Games, and now that he's won, he's acting stupid. I honestly don't understand why and I don't like having to dwell on it too much, it makes me worry and I _never_ worry.

Everyone else seems to sympathize with him though, so I don't really know why he comes for my help every night, because I'm clearly not good with touchy feely crap.

My brother clears his throat, and I smile. I've won this round. "Well... Iona is downstairs, and you guys should head out... the reaping starts soon."

**ѮѼѮ**

I meet my younger sister by the front door. She is like a mini-me in a lot of ways, and I hate it. What happened to being your own person?

She's similar to me in looks, though she actually bothered to make herself look presentable—in an old dress of mine, no less! Iona has combed her black hair and pinned it away from her face, she is grinning like a mad woman.

"Ready to go?" she asks me.

"No."

She regards me like I'm something to be shunned and ushers me out of the house, grabbing my umbrella before the door slams shut.

"Mom and Dad are going to be mad we aren't there early." Iona scolds, as if she's the older sister.

I want to smack her, but I keep my composure. "They're working."

My parents are Peacekeepers, and every year they go into the town square earlier than everyone else to keep out the troublemakers, as well as rope-off the sections. They won't even notice that James' isn't with us.

"It doesn't matter," she says, still using her Mother Goose voice. "They'll still be mad."

"Why don't you—"

Iona interrupts me—again. "Look! There's Docia and Mara! See ya!" She runs off to the section for the fifteens and leaves me standing all alone, in the pouring rain, looking like a moron—without the umbrella.

I curse to myself and wish that Gabriel didn't have to be onstage with the other victors... I'm going to look like a loser now, and that's the farthest thing form the truth. I consider this for a second, coming to the conclusion that I don't care what I look like, I don't need anybody.

* * *

><p>District 2: Adrian Perham<p>

_This used to be a funhouse  
>But now it's full of evil clowns<br>It's time to start the countdown_

_~P!nk, Funhouse~_

* * *

><p>It's raining.<p>

That's the first thing I notice when I open my eyes on the morning of the reaping.

Rain is a bad omen, and everyone in their right mind knows it.

I want to roll over and go back to sleep. I want to forget about the sheeting downpour and the terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Today isn't a day for bad karma, because today I want to volunteer.

I mean, I went through the entire process of training, and I've been evaluated. I'm in good health, I've passed the standardized physical they gave me, and I know for a fact that I had been the only person the mentors deemed suitable enough to represent the district—even the latest victor had no issues with it, and he isn't right in the head, stepped on one too many cracks, I guess.

I debate on whether or not I should put my head under the pillow for a few minutes longer, when I hear Felicia cursing from the other room.

When my sister's in a bad mood, it usually lasts for hours. She kicks and screams and has the biggest tantrum anyone has ever seen.

One time, she threw her hairbrush at the bathroom mirror and it cracked—I still think our house has seven years of bad luck—and she started complaining about not being able to do her makeup.

I force myself to get out of bed and face the day, trying not to think that one phrase that will ruin everything.

I dress in my reaping finest and take the stairs two at a time.

Two has been my lucky number ever since I started believing in karma. It had taken me two weeks to get back on my feet after my accident and all good things come in twos, at least I think they do. There's shoes and socks and Felicia's earrings... and I live in District 2, so that sort of trumps any of my other reasons for liking the number.

I greet my parents, who are waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. My mother, whom I like to call Bitchy Bellona when she's not looking, gives me The Look. You know, the one that makes me want to have my lucky rabbit's foot _and_ my four-leaf clover with me.

She points to the clock on the wall. "You were supposed to be ready to go thirty minutes ago!"

"I'm here now, though." I say sheepishly.

"Well, if we aren't there soon we'll all be shot to death." says my father.

I flinch.

I can't even _think_ about the bad karma that will come with murdering a human being. It scares the crap out of me, I mean, what if the bad spirits decide to haunt me for all of eternity?

Felicia runs down the staircase when Mom calls her name, the shrill tone of voice is enough to set anyone on edge. In Felicia's hand is a bright pink umbrella, because when her hair get wet it frizzes or something.

She opens it at the same time Dad yanks the front door open.

I nearly have a heart attack.

"Felicia!" I gasp, stumbling over my next words. "Th-that's bad l-luck!"

"So?"

"Both of you, stop fighting and get out the door! _Now!"_

I don't think either of us has ever been so eager to leave the house before.

**ѮѼѮ**

Awnings hang over storefronts and restaurants in the square. Ladders are propped up against buildings while men repair leaks. I stay as far away from them as humanly possible and I spot my best friends under a huge umbrella, huddling together and presumably looking for me.

I rush over to them, and we walk over to the eighteens, trying to avoid getting wet.

I see a bulge in Geneva's jacket, and I'm curious as to what it could possibly be.

"Gen, is there something you want to tell me?"

She smiles, "Yup, I found a cat and decided to keep it."

I ignore the looks on Benedict's and Cameo's faces, though I should have taken it as another omen, but I opt to poke the lump instead.

Sure enough, it _meows_.

"What did you decide to name it?"

"Midnight." My girlfriend says, a smirk on her face.

I'm starting to worry now... this doesn't sound pleasant. "Why?"

Without a word, she pulls her new pet from her coat. It's a cute cat with yellow eyes and a small body, but that doesn't mean it isn't Satanic. It's all black. Gen has decided to adopt a black cat.

A demon.

I back away from her, my hands outstretched. She _knows_ how I feel about those things, those terrible little monsters. She _knows_ they're bad luck. And she actually _touched_ one!

All three of them are laughing like hyenas—so they think it's funny! They're all aware that I'm volunteering today and they take it as one big joke!

I disappear into my section, no one follows me.

_Good._ I think, _who needs them anyway?_

The mayor walks onto the stage. He's a portly man of about forty, and he's famous around school for his receding hairline. He talks about the formation of Panem, the Dark Days (one huge case of bad luck, if you ask me,) and it's result: a yearly event called the Hunger Games. Mayor Bloom names the previous victors, and the crowd applauds. Even I manage to clap weakly a few times, but then I go back to clutching my lucky charm... I have to get rid of all the negative energy pronto.

The mayor gives us the "settle down" hand gesture and we oblige. "Please welcome our escort... Caspian Grimm!"

Caspian gallops onto the platform, waving and smiling, though I suspect the smiling-thing is due to a Capitol drug called Botox. This year, his skin is the color of the sun on a cloudless day. He looks like a lightbulb for God's sake!

"Hellooooo District 2! How are you guys today?"

Not good. That cat really threw off my equilibrium.

"Good!" he exclaims. "Let's move on!"

He goes over to the first reaping ball and pulls a name out of it.

"Mercy Tenebrae, you're our female tribute!"

A girl with dark hair and a smug expression pushes me out of the way so she can claim her glory. It's protocol that keeps every other girl from jumping up to volunteer, as I said earlier, potential volunteers have to pass a test. Caspian has a list of those who passed it on his clipboard, after Mercy gets up there, he will ask the expected question and only those on the list may answer it.

She mounts the stairs and Caspian puts his bony arm around her shoulder. "Any volu—"

"Nope." says Mercy shortly. "They're aren't."

"_What?" _one of the victors says, distraught.

She turns around, gives him the evil eye, faces the crowd again, gives us a shit-eating smile.

She's got a pole up her ass, probably has major karma issues, too...

"So... let's get our male tribute, shall we?"

I take a deep breath, rubbing my wooden charm again.

"Stark Fields!"

A short boy, who is fourteen years old, makes his way to the stage... walks up the steps... stands next to Caspian... I rub my charm once more for good measure.

"Any volunteers?" Caspian asks.

"Me!" I shout, whilst jumping over the velvet rope. "I volunteer!"

"Name?" he inquires once I'm in earshot.

"Adrian Perham." I say proudly.

He reads over the list, smiling even more when he comes across my name. "District 2, I give you your tributes!" Instead of stopping there, he continues on with his monologue, complimenting us. "Nothing can go wrong with these guys as our competitors!"

That phrase I didn't think of this morning comes back to haunt me. I can't believe he said it. Now I'm screwed.

* * *

><p><em>I hoped you guys liked it... tell me what you thought of the tributes so far... I'll make an attempt to do three reapings next chapter, but I'll see how it works out. And sorry for any typos I might not have seencorrected._


	7. Deadly Premonitions

**Disclaimer: Again, I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Reapings, Districts 3 through 4~<strong>

* * *

><p>District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo<p>

_I got a brand new attitude  
>And I'm gonna wear it tonight<br>I'm gonna get in trouble_

_~P!nk, So What~_

* * *

><p><em>I see only darkness.<em>

_Maybe it's a black pit, a bottomless abyss... or perhaps it's a cavern._

_I'm not really sure, but I know I don't want to fall over the edge of whatever I'm standing on. Unsure of myself, I glance at my feet. I notice that my toes are still painted in that special nail polish made from berries. An old woman who's husband got his arm sawed off by a machine makes it. It's a sort of hobby for her, I think._

_Anyway, beyond the fact that I have great nails, I realize that I'm hanging off a cliff._

Great.

_How the hell did I get here?_

_A grumbling noise comes from somewhere far away, it isn't very loud, but it's enough to startle me. I jump a little bit, lose my balance, and tumble over the edge._

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

_As I'm free falling, the sound get louder and louder and..._

_Smack!_

I gasp, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I want to scream, but no sound comes out.

I sit up and survey my surroundings.

I'm in my room. It looks exactly like it did when I went to bed. Slightly messy, clothes piled on the floor, wrinkled from not being ironed in what was probably a week. The walls are still painted in a light bluish-green color, and my mirror has pictures of my sisters and brother taped on it—just like it always has.

Nothing is out of place, and I'm clearly okay, but I hear something that irritates me so much more than it should.

That grumbling noise from my dream—nightmare, really.

It's not a monster hiding in it's lair, it's my brother, snoring like one of those machines at the television factory.

An unexplainable fury surges in my veins, it's a sort of adrenaline rush that is always getting me into trouble. I'm to quick to anger, at least that's what my mom tells me, but I rarely listen to her. I usually tell her that she's not really my mother and that it's not my fault that people piss me off. But then she get's this wounded deer look on her face, and I'm reminded of the fact that she's not nearly as tough as my birth mother, who got pregnant with me me at seventeen, only to die a year later.

Dad tells me that she is a victim of the Hunger Games... that she almost won them... but then she got an ax to the head, courtesy of that year's winner, Maya Birch. District 7, I believe she was from.

But Seur isn't strong, and I really hate making her feel worthless... not that I'd _ever_ tell her that.

Bure is an asshole, though, and he deserves to get yelled at. He knows I hate his snoring, especially because it wakes me up.

"Hey idiot!" I shout, hitting the wall next to my bed. "Shut the hell up!"

There is a loud, _thump_, and Bure curses loudly. Looks like somebody fell out of bed. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Sukara?"

"Nothing is wrong with _me, you're_ the one with sinus issues!"

I fall back on my pillows, pretending not to hear Bure's next retort.

Screw him.

I briefly consider going back to sleep... but then what would I dream about? Demons? Death? The possibilities were endless.

Deciding that sleep would be pointless, I get out of bed, dreading the fact that the reaping would begin in less than an hour.

I hate reaping day.

Seur always leaves a dress that is way too nice for a normal day on my chair, along with a pair of Meopy's old shoes. This year, it's a frilly thing made of light purple fabric and black high heels that I don't think that I can walk in.

I try to tell myself that she means well, but I'm still mad. So mad in fact, that I walk over to my window and chuck the offending shoes into the yard.

I re-paint my nails with the last of my polish and dress in the clothes my step-mom gave me, putting on a pair of flat shoes instead.

The numbers on my alarm clock tell me that I have forty-five minutes and counting.

**ѮѼѮ**

As usual, I walk with my eighteen year-old siblings to the town square.

Both Bure and I dislike the restriction that our mother put on us, but Meopy—Bure's twin—doesn't seem to mind.

Meopy is admiring my hair as we walk, talking in a voice of pure adoration. "You should have braided my hair like that, Suka."

Barf. "Next year."

"If you're even here next year, you take way too much tesserae." Bure tries to mask the concern in his tone, but I still hear it. It really pisses me off that he tries to say that so nonchalantly—as if my death means nothing to him, when truthfully, he'd be destroyed if I went into the Games.

The _idiot._

"Anyway... did Mom say she was bringing Clire with her?"

Meopy is always trying to divert arguments, she's a nicer version of a Peacekeeper.

"Yup." says Bure, "But that's not the damn—"

Meopy pretends to ignore him, looking at the small crowd gathering around the stage. "Hey Bure, is that Teela?" she points to a tall girl standing by the seventeen pen.

His head snaps up, and he's blushing.

For a moment, I'm surprised. Bure never _ever_ blushes, he is a block of ice that melts only when he's upset.

"Hey Suka!" Someone calls.

It's Leona.

Following her is my other best friend, Maui. He is so much like me that Leona always comments on how we are probably going to end up married and then divorced because we're both so stubborn. She still has bruises on her arm from our reactions to her observation.

"See you later, guys." I wave to my brother and sister, but Bure is too busy yelling at Meopy for either of them to respond.

I run over to them and we stand at the very front of the fifteen pen.

I look up at the stage, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Who do you think is going to get reaped?"

Maui scans the area. "That girl." he points to a small girl with red hair that is only twelve years old. A newbie to our little reaping game.

It's a tradition—two of us pick out possible tributes for the year, and if we're right... well, nobody has been right as of yet, so I don't really know what happens then.

"Maui, you asshole! She's twelve! What's your problem?" It's an unspoken rule—nobody bets on a twelve-year old. It's taboo.

"It's my guess." he says with a shrug.

"I pick him!" Leona interjects, preventing a huge fistfight from occurring. She selects a large boy with curly brown hair.

"I think you'll win," I say to her, trying to stay calm. Stupid Maui. "Young kids never get reaped."

"Yeah?" he asks snidely, still pissed that I yelled at him. "It's only a matter of time..."

* * *

><p>District 3: Clint Manti<p>

_We are listening  
>And we're not blind<br>This is your life  
>This is your time<em>

_~Snow Patrol, Called Out In The Dark~_

* * *

><p>I often wonder about <em>those<em> people.

The sort of people who are oblivious to the world around them. It's not a bad thing necessarily, but it _does_ perplex me. How could they not see the cloud of responsibility hanging over them? I feel it looming over me all the time. My father has always taught me to be strong, and I've been following his sage advice for years, watching out for Lillian whenever I get the opportunity.

Take today for example.

Lilly might have escaped being reaped, but she is constantly doing things that will get he into major trouble.

Because of this, I have to stand outside of her boyfriend's house, just to make sure she isn't doing anything... well, _stupid_. Dad would rather me use a word akin to misguided, but Lillian is no longer that sort of girl anymore. She's not sixteen and simply just a teenager, she knows the downward spiral she's on... and it's not getting any better.

Trelix, this week's conquest, lives in a fairly nice home away from the layer of smog emitted from the smokestacks. And at first, both my father and I believed him to be a gentleman, but clearly we were both terribly wrong.

Emily meets me by the front door at the time we agreed upon, smiling and waving as if it's any other day.

"Clint! Your hair is a mess!"

Sometimes I think of Emily as one of _them,_ simply because she is so carefree.

I smile ruefully at her. "I know, but Lillian has to walk me to the reaping. I didn't have time to comb it."

"You could just walk with me, it's only down the street." she says.

"I'd rather make sure she's okay."

She looks hurt, but I don't acknowledge it. Even though it's reaping day, the sun is shining and the sky is blue. I have a theory that the Capitol purposely schedules the reaping during good weather days, and there's a rumor that the town was built on the outskirts of District 3 just for the reaping. I suppose it makes sense, as the rest of our home has a polluted air about it and we have to have the very best for President Snow.

I can't say that it isn't plausible.

There is a _bang_, a giggle, and my sister appears in the doorway. Her hair is messy and she is all disheveled, dress hiked up over her thighs, and a goofy grin on her face.

I can't even begin to understand what happened in there—and I really don't want to know.

"Ready to go?" Lilly asks, delirious.

"Yes."

_No, not really. _

**ѮѼѮ**

We are so late that even Ace is getting anxious.

"Where _were_ you?"

I duck under the rope, and Emily follows suit. We stand side by side by side, equally bothered by the upcoming event.

No one, not even this Trelix-guy who is taking advantage of Lillian, deserves to die a horrible death.

I tell myself to stay positive, but I can't seem to manage it. I feel like this day is going to go terribly wrong, and the feedback coming from the stage's speakers aren't doing anything to ease my paranoia.

"Waiting for Lilly," Emily says a bit peevishly.

I sigh. "Look Em, if she doesn't take care of herself, who's going to?"

"Your dad!"

I've never seen her so upset before. "What about when he dies?"

"She's a big girl, she can take care of herself." Em is close to tears now and I have no idea what to say.

"I didn't realize it was such a big deal... I'm sorry."

"Well, when someone lo—"

She is abruptly cut off by Mayor Zeal clearing his throat, the sound amplified by his microphone.

He starts off by reading the Treaty of Treason, and speaking of the Dark Days, and finally the birth of the Hunger Games.

"And here's Drey Mann!"

Our escort is purple. From his hair to his eyes to his toenails. His tunic is an obscene gold color and it almost hurts to look at him.

"Hi District 3!" he yells gleefully. "Let's start the won-der-ful reaping!"

He prances—yes, _prances_—over to the reaping ball and pulls a name from it.

"Our female tribute is... Sukara Ra-vo!" Drey screams, enunciating her last name.

I turn to Emily, who likes to poke fun at his accent, but she doesn't want to make eye contact with me.

That's when I hear it.

"Clint Manti!"

_What did he just say?_

"Clint..." Ace begins, obviously horrified.

I move toward the stage as if I'm in a dream... and I'll wake up any second now...

But that moment never comes, and I'm left standing next to an alien and a girl I have seen in school. The weight of what's going on hits me all at once.

We're going to die, and nobody can stop it.

* * *

><p>District 4: Fawn Nolan<p>

_Oh well your future's a machine  
>With the mechanics of a dream<br>It is your mind that spins the wheel_

_~Noah And The Whales, Jocasta~_

* * *

><p>The nightmares are the hardest to ignore.<p>

No matter how many pleasant non-realities I make for myself, their faces are always there.

I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to the sound of the water smacking against the wood of the dock. It comforts me, reminds me of peace, though it makes me sleepier than I already am. Training for the Games takes a lot out of me, especially because I got up earlier than usual to swim laps. I always put in extra time on reaping day, I have to stay on my toes.

I can't end up like Kaia and Axel.

Their faces swim into my mind before I can stop it.

They were so sure of themselves... so positive that they would win. How could they have been so wrong?

Over-confidence.

I remember walking into the Justice Building, scared out of my mind, knowing that this was the last time I'd ever see Kaia again.

_Don't worry about me, Fawnie. I'll be fine. I'll win for sure!_

If she associates being strung up a tree and being hanged with fine, then we have two opposing views. My version of fine consists of being here, by the ocean. Swimming. Thinking of only good things. Staying fit. Staying strong.

I told myself repeatedly that Axel had a chance...

_I can't wait to win this thing!_

But he didn't, much to mom and dad's chagrin. That's right—chagrin. They didn't shed so much as a tear when Axel fell out of that tree, they believed he would get up and be a-okay, but bodies don't bend at ninety degree angles... arms don't twist backwards... bones should not poke out of flesh.

I shake my head, ridding myself of the gory imagery.

The sun is peeking out over the horizon, staining the gray water orange. The sky isn't blue, but a bloody reddish shade. It's creepy, really, and it unsettles me so much that I get up from my spot and take off in the opposite direction.

I can never seem to escape the pain for too long.

People who are setting up wave to me and I look away—I can't stand to see the looks on their faces, so happy and lighthearted.

Today is reaping day for God sake!

Luckily—or unluckily—depending on your point of view, the District 4 Peacekeepers have the first five sections up and ready, so I stand in the sixteens alone, watching as a man with a curly-q mustache places the Victor's chair on the platform. They are labeled with the Victor's name and the Games they competed in. _Pearla Ola: 51__st__ Hunger Games,_ she won when she was twelve. My father,_ Mar Nolan: 47__th__ Hunger Games._ My mother, _Morgan Nolan: 39__th__ Hunger Games_, she was thirteen. And last but not least; _Zane Dalis: 71__th__ Hunger Games_, he was sixteen at the time.

My only friend, who is very pro-training and doesn't care if I don't get his dumb jokes.

He says winning the Games makes him happier about life, and he likes spending time helping others... because he'd be pretty bored if he didn't help me train all the time. I wonder... when I win the Games (the way I've trained for them does not point to any other option,) will I feel the same way? I hope so, the alternative isn't what I'd call good. Pearla is a victim of the flip-side. Her blue-green eyes are always blank during the recaps of her Games.

I don't want to be an empty shell.

I _can't_ be.

**ѮѼѮ**

Hours later, the area starts to fill with people, the stage is now home to our four living victors, three of which I love very much.

_It should be five, _a dreamy voice in my head says, and I have to agree—for Kaia and Axel, for Landon, who should never be a tribute in these Games.

I'll be a part of this, too. I decide it right then, in the space of a nano-second.

I can do this. I've trained for half of my life, while my siblings started training when they reached reaping age. I'm better prepared, and I am far more realistic than they were—and I spend half my time so deep in thought that I constantly get yelled at by Zane and my parental units.

I will volunteer, and I'll show everybody.

This will be my year.

* * *

><p>District 4: Cameron Knight<p>

_I'm a spectator, the motivator  
>Shut up, shut up and do it to yourself<br>I'm just an innocent bystander!_

_~KoRn, Innocent Bystander~_

* * *

><p>"Cora, who are you looking at?"<p>

My current girlfriend doesn't respond, and keeps her eyes trained on that victor instead—the one who won the Games most recently, Zone or something.

I can feel the first sparks of frustration beginning to form in the pit of my stomach. "Cora?"

"Hmm?" She finally turns to look at me, her dark green eyes wide and not really attentive.

"Who are you looking at?"

"Mayor Vast. He's got a new bow tie." She point to the wiry man standing on the stage, speaking with one of the Capitol's most favored victors—Finnick Odair.

But Mayor Vast does have a new bow tie, it's bright yellow with accents of red, and he probably got it as a gift from our escort, who has always had an unhealthy obsession with him.

"Isn't it funny?" she prompts, giving my hand a squeeze.

If I'm going to be completely honest, I don't give a damn about his tie, much less what it looks like, but I do my best to try to seem as if it matters.

I nod slowly. "Yes."

"Finnick would look good in a bow tie, don't cha think?"

I clench my jaw and agree with her, although I don't even know what she said, I'm too busy glaring at the Peacekeeper who walks by us. I hate those assholes, they think everything they do is justified because they enforce the laws, even if their actions would get a normal person executed. Every last one of them is downright pathetic, I can't even think of a word shitty enough to describe them.

What I do next is fully intentional, I put my leg out and the idiot trips over it, arms flailing as his face smacks into the concrete. I hear a _crack_, which means his nose has probably shattered... a more moral part of myself tries to call up guilt, but I fail miserably. He deserves whatever pain he gets.

What they did...

It was unforgivable.

"Oh my God!" Cora shrieks. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah man," I chime in, but only because I don't want to get myself murdered for assault. "You should watch where you're going... I wouldn't want anything else to happen to you."

Cora helps him up, and tells me she'll be right back. She takes the guy over to the small doctor's office on the other side of town.

I shove my hand in my pockets, the anger slowly fading away.

**ѮѼѮ**

Cora meets up with me in the section for seventeen year-olds. Her blonde hair is slightly frizzier than it was before, but she's still pretty, which I tell her the second I see her.

"What was going on back there, Cam?"

Thankfully, I'm spared an answer. Mayor Vast begins to give his speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the country of Panem came to be..."

After at least twenty minutes of his rambling, he brings Sari Cox onto the stage, she hangs onto his arm like a fucking octopus and gives him a peck on the lips, he turns noticeably red.

At least there's _some_ entertainment.

I feel myself beginning to calm down, and it feels nice to hold Cora in my arms.

It's okay.

Sari goes over to the first reaping ball, giggles idiotically, and draws a name.

"Cora Glass, you're our first tribute!" her shrill voice turns into knives, daggers that are cutting into my eardrums.

"I volunteer!"

A girl rushes out of the sixteens with her head held high.

I recognize her as Fawn Nolan, the daughter of two victors. District 4 doesn't have much of a volunteer process, so Sari just tears the slip of paper in half and smiles.

"Our male tribute is... Cameron Knight!"

Holy crap.

I've just been reaped.

I feel like I'm about to faint, but I let go of Cora's hand, march up the steps in a mannor similar to Fawn, and meet my fate.

* * *

><p><em>There's the second set of reapings. I hope I wrote everyone's characters like they imagined them. And I didn't have a theme song for Cam so I found one... I hope that one is alright. Please review and tell me what you thought of the tributes. Also, I was thinking about doing a few chapters during the actual Games from the mentor's point of view. What do you think?<em>


	8. That's What She Said

_Here's the third reaping chapter. I found these tributes to be really interesting to write, and—like always—I hope I wrote them as you guys thought they would be like. Remember to review, review, review, to give me some feedback. _

_Merry Early Christmas!_

_Oh, and, Chuckesleaze, I chose a song for Autumn, I hope it's okay._

* * *

><p><strong>~The Reapings, District 5 through 6~<strong>

* * *

><p>District 5: Ransom Sage<p>

_And then he'd spread whipped cream  
>All over her...<br>Cookies that she had  
>Left out on her shelf<br>If you think this is dirty  
>You can go fuck yourself!<em>

_~The Arrogant Worms, The Assumption Song~_

* * *

><p>"Eulalie," I begin, sifting through my memorized list of pick-up lines.<p>

She bats her eyelashes at me a few times, though instead of looking turned on by my witty charm, she looks kind of bored. "Yes?"

I study her carefully, my eyes wandering appreciatively over her chest. I only make eye contact with her when she clears her throat—rather loudly, I might add.

"Is that a new reaping dress?"

"Yes..." she answers, feigning a yawn.

"It looks good on you," I offer, but it's clear that it's only a halfhearted compliment.

Eulalie stares at me. "Thanks." And again, she's not even intrigued as to why I would have said that.

"But it'd look better on the floor..." I continue, "next to my bed."

It takes a moment for this to sink in. Eulalie Monroe isn't known for her _brains_, after all. Her dark eyebrows knit together in confusion and she is frowning. It's as if she's trying to solve one of Panem's most complicated math problems, which, in her eyes, is probably two plus two. And I'd be willing to put money on the theory that she'd come up with the answer of cat.

Yes, that's right, _cat._

I wonder if she'd get the joke... Mila would, even though it's totally obscure and you'd have to spend all of your time with me to even understand where I was coming from—

A dull pain makes me stop thinking about unintentionally funny words.

"Ouch!"

We both recoil, Eulalie rubs her hand and I do the same to my jaw. She looks at me with narrowed brown eyes and I can't help but feel a little stunned. Because, nine times out of ten, girls never pay me any attention, unless their name is Mila. So this is a definite first and I don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck am I talking about?

_She hit me in the face!_

And it_ hurt!_

"Don't you_ ever_ say that to me again!"

"Say what?" I ask innocently. I don't need to give her any more reasons to hit me again.

"T-that!" she sputters, cheeks turning red. "You know what I mean!"

"What are you talking about?"

She doesn't say anything, choosing to put her hands on her hips instead.

It really_ doesn't _take long to confuse her...

I remain quiet a couple of seconds, acting stupid. And then, out of nowhere, I yell, "What Mom?" I pretend to listen to the empty air for a few moments before I come up with another "response for my mother."

"I'll be right there, Mom!"

Eulalie gives me a blank look, completely forgetting about my comment. "I didn't hear anything,"

"Really?" I ask with false surprise. "My mom has a huge mouth, it's good for... stuff." I flinch at the terrible turn my thoughts take. I really don't need to think about mom and dad doing... _that._

Blech.

I shake my head and wave goodbye to Eulalie. "See ya!"

As I'm walking away, I turn around, only to see the hottest girl in the world scratching her head in clear befuddlement.

_I'm good._

**ѮѼѮ**

As it turns out, Mom _was _calling me—she wanted me to help Luca get ready for the reaping.

And I, being Panem's Most Awesome Badass Older Brother, agreed to give him my assistance.

"So, Luca... you always have to remember that there are four kinds of sex. Okay?" I attempt to fix his tie, only to realize that I have no fucking clue as to what I'm really supposed to be doing.

My little brother—though he hates it when I call him that—sighs. "Ransom, mom only lets us spend ten minutes a day together, and you're choking me, and you promised me one of those magazines you hide under—"

"Shut up, kid. I'm giving you some valuable information here."

"I _know_ that there are different kinds of sex, you already told me about that and you're always talking to Mila about the or—"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "I said shut up! And these are four new kinds, alright?" I let go of him and walk over to the door. I shut it quietly, but only after I make sure that the coast is clear. If mom thinks I'm filling Luca's head with "testosterone-fueled ideas" as she calls them, I'll be grounded for another two weeks.

"I'm waiting." says Luca impatiently.

"There's House Sex, where you have sex on every surface possible, and in every single room of your house."

"How do you_ know_ that?" he asks, genuinely curious. That kid is more like me than Mom likes to admit.

"Elias' older brother just got married." I explain.

"And... oh." Luca shuts his mouth, his ears turning tomato-red.

I guess he's also smarter than I give him credit for.

I continue on, as if I don't notice that this conversation is murdering what little naivety he has left. "Then there's Bedroom Sex—where you only have sex in you're room because it's too much work to fuck anywhere else."

"Okay. And you know this how exactly?"

"You don't want to know, Luca. You really don't."

"Whatever... how much longer is this going to take? The reaping starts at twelve and it's not like you're ready. And I really want that magazine." he stares at my hiding spot with irritation.

"Well," I say, not bothering to mask my agitation. "If you'd stop playing Twenty Questions, we'd get done a lot sooner."

I try—and fail miserably—to fix his tie again. I've put at least five different knots in it, and it'll take awhile to undo them. I yank it once, hoping to remedy the issue, but it doesn't help at all. If anything, the problem gets even worse. The black fabric is wrinkled now, too, and Mom will think I messed up because I was messing around. True—but _still._

I can hear her now...

_Ransom, _honestly_. I don't know where you picked this behavior, but it's gross. Did I give you the wrong impression about s-e-x when you were younger?_

She wouldn't even say it. And then, I'd ultimately say something terrible.

_Well, those diagrams you showed me _were_ pretty detailed._

Luca stomps his foot angrily. "Next."

"Oh, um... then there's Hallway Sex. That's what Mom and Dad do,"

"_What!" _Luca exclaims, "TMI!"

"Chill dude, it's when two people pass each other in a hallway and say 'fuck you.' That's it."

This seems to placate him enough to ask for the next explanation. "What else is there, Wise One?"

"Um..." I begin, "there's—"

'Luca, Ransom! Get moving, you know how the Peacekeepers are about lateness."

_Not really,_ I think, _they just lecture you, and that's better than what they're _supposed_ to do._

The Peacekeepers in District 5 rarely keep their guns loaded.

"C-coming!" Luca shouts to our mother while I accidentally choke him in my final attempt to make him presentable.

He shoots me the Death Stare and I act like it doesn't matter. "I tell you the rest of the joke later, kid—promise."

* * *

><p>District 5: Autumn Coville<p>

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?  
>No one will ever change this animal I have become<em>

_~Three Days Grace, Animal I Have Become~_

* * *

><p>I want to run and hide.<p>

She's coming to get me, brush in hand, ready to attack.

I try to remind myself that she's only trying to help—it's reaping day after all, and us Community Home kids need all the help we can get.

And, besides, it's only one day. Mrs. Dulce leaves me the hell alone the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year. That time is for wandering around the pathetic excuse of woods around the district. I always wished that I lived in District 7, because, supposedly, that entire area is surrounded by trees and moss and other green stuff—probably other types of local foliage.

I don't belong here.

I never have, not even when I was young and happy and nice—_too_ nice, really.

District 5 is for the birds.

Mrs. Dulce gives me a huge smile, one that makes her laugh lines all the more prominent. "How are you today, Autumn?"

"Oh, just peachy! Especially since two small, innocent kids will be sent to their deaths today! I'm great!" The poison in my voice is blatantly obvious.

The gray-haired woman looks straight into my eyes, something not very many people can do; they usually stare at their feet when they're talking to me.

"Well, I know today isn't the best..." she struggles to find a Capitol-approved word, and I roll my eyes, _"holiday,_ but we have to be positive."

"Right." I roll my eyes.

"Brush you're hair at least, the Capitol likes everyone to look nice, no matter what."

"Fuck the—"

"Autumn," Mrs. Dulce scolds, shaking her head in disappointment. "You know better than that!"

Clearly, I don't, but I take the brush from her and do as she asks.

I hate making myself look "presentable." Especially if it's because of those parent-killing, egotistical, Games-hungry, losers. They haven't ever done me any good, I'm here because of them. Alone. Angry. Lost. My conditions are endless. Chip is the only person I have, and I can't count on keeping him around forever. There's no rhyme or reason to how the Capitol works. They'd probably kill him if I open my mouth to insult them again.

I spend an hour brushing my hair, and even then, it's still a complete mess. Mrs. Dulce brings me a new dress (new meaning new for the Community Home, of course. It's probably at least four years old.) It's bright yellow, and it looks like the sun puked on it. I wrinkle my nose at it, but take it anyway. What else can I wear?

Before I know it, it's time to go, and we are all forced out of the door, on our way to the second worst event in the history of ever.

**ѮѼѮ**

I have to walk past the gallows to get to the fifteens section.

The entire town square is roped of in clear-cut sections, visible from mostly any vantage point near the storefronts. The pens are lined up in numerical order. Twelves first, located by Sage General Store; Thirteens next, by the bakery, and so on and so forth. The center point of the map is the stocks, which includes the gallows, where innocent people are blamed for their kid's mistakes.

I fall into step with a group of three people. Two guys, one girl.

"And he said, 'Wow, Elias, it's huge,' and Ransom tells him, 'that's wh...'"

I shake my head and quickly walk away.

I don't think I need to hear what happens next, this is a group of rich-ass perverts, so whatever it is, it's not good.

Chip is standing in the very back corner of our pen, as always. And I duck under the rope the second I see him.

"Wow." he says mockingly. "Look who tried to brush her hair." Chip holds an uncombed section up, smirking as I frown at him.

"I obviously didn't do a good job of it." I hit him in the arm.

He lets go of my hair, glares at me, and holds his elbow close to his chest. "I know, that's why I said _tried."_

"Shut up."

"No."

We exchange a few more rude comments before Mayor Elwood appears form behind the huge orange curtain on the stage. He's tall and fat, but very respected by everyone but me.

"Welcome to the reaping for the seventy fourth Hunger Games," he recites the Treaty Of Treason and moves on with the program. Crap about the Dark Days, the first Games, more guidelines for the reaping, our list of pathetic victors.

Eventually, he introduces, Noelle Dream, our escort. She's a woman covered in fruit. Her outfit is probably authentic, too, because everything looks totally real. She even has her hair styled to look like a bunch of grapes, a mixture of purple and green.

"It's nice to be back guys!" she says, her voice lowering in pitch.

_No it fucking isn't._

She walks over to the first reaping ball and nearly trips because her shoes are ridiculously tall.

I laugh and a random girl shoots me an irritated look, Chip doesn't hesitate to elbow me in the arm. Doesn't anyone else find this funny?

Noelle recovers enough to read the name off the paper. "Autumn Coville!"

_So I'm going to die... this isn't good... but I have to be strong._

In three short days, I'll be in the Capitol. My skin bristles at the thought of it. Me, in the same city as a bunch of... a bunch of... morons like Noelle Dream. That idea alone nearly drives me insane, but I'm not willing to let anyone see it. My expression is one of calm, cool, collect, pride.

Noelle seems surprised to see me there when I finally get to the stage. "Oh my," she says, staring at my hair. "Don't you look..." she attempts to make eye contact with me, but quickly averts her gaze. "Um... _sweet."_

I shake my head.

"No? Well, that's too bad... let's select our next tribute."

She takes several huge steps away from me (almost falling again.) and puts one of her dainty, manicured hand in the other glass ball.

"Ransom Sage!" Noelle cheers, as if this kid should be_ proud _he's going to die.

I see a commotion going on from the seventeen section, a blonde girl screams _"Ransom!" _angrily, and a boy with messy hair walks onto the platform. He stops in front of me, winks suggestively, and I decide that I want to rip his fingernails off. I know nothing about this Ransom-guy other than the fact that he's a privileged asshole.

The exact type of person I hate.

I suppose I shouldn't be so upset, considering that Noelle got most of his inappropriate comments.

"Nice shirt," he says, "I love the grapefruits—they're a nice touch." Ransom then sees the rest of her outfit, and a disgusting smile breaks onto his face. "Cool skirt, too, though some people might get the wrong idea about the bananas."

She does her best to ignore Ransom's God-awful comments. "District 5, I give you you're tributes."

_More like unwilling victims,_ I think, rolling my eyes.

That's all we really are.

* * *

><p>District 6: Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime<p>

_You've seen what you like  
>And how does it feel for one more time<em>

_~Daniel Powter, Bad Day~_

* * *

><p>I miss him so much.<p>

And today, it's worse... it's reaping day.

I remember what he looked like as he mounted the stage. Young and scared. He had been so small, and I knew in my heart that I wouldn't ever see him again, at least outside of watching him on TV. Watching him die.

The way that arrow pierced his heart. A stream of blood soaked his shirt. There was an empty call for help and his life ended with a _thud._

Well, that, and cannon fire.

A loud _bang_ fills the room... _just like a cannon._

I jump and then, instinctively, skitter across my bedroom to hide under a blanket.

Footsteps.

That's what comes next.

It can't be anything _too_ bad. I could have told myself that, I guess. The violence rate in District 6 is pretty low, nobody really breaks the law, and if they do, it's never ever talked about.

I stare at the door, which is covered in pictures of my brother, none of them were taken recently.

I still think that someone bad might come in here, despite the fact that it doesn't make any sense, my heart rate still hasn't slowed down, and the paranoia is practically breathing down my neck. I cover my eyes with the rest of the quilt and wait, knowing that something terrible is about to happen. I think that—sometime, in the space of a second—I end up curling myself into a ball, as if that in itself could protect me.

The door—finally!—opens and in steps...

I pull the blanket off of my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief.

It's only Rachel and Haylee.

"Hi guys," I say weakly. "How are you?"

"Worried about you." says Rachel quietly.

"That's why we came over, Wendy." Haylee chimes in, because she hates being left out of a conversation.

"I'm fine. Really."

Haylee looks at me, a skeptical look on her face. "Than why are you hiding under his blanket?"

Nobody ever says his name anymore.

"Oh... this." I throw the threadbare scrap of fabric aside. That's what mom calls it, when she thinks I can't hear. "It's nothing... honestly."

"We understand why you're upset, Wen." Rachel attempts to calm me down. "You haven't seen him in so long. It must be hard—him being... gone, I mean."

My throat closes up. "I know, but I'd rather spend time asking you why you're wearing that ugly dress, Hayl." I try to make my amusement sound real, but I don't think the happiness reaches my eyes.

"It's_ so_ not ugly!"

"Um, yes. Yes it is." Rachel laughs.

I chuckle lightly, trying not to cry.

**ѮѼѮ**

Haylee and Rachel are always two steps ahead of me, but every so often, they look back, worried.

I never make eye contact with them.

Instead, I look at how busy the town square has gotten. Everyone is dressed in their nicest clothing. Khaki pants, ties, coats. Fancy dresses, skirts, blouses. Jewelry. I'm standing in a sea of pretend rich people. District 6 isn't the lowest of Panem's wealth scale, but we don't swim in money either. And some of this stuff looks too good to be real, and no one wears this sort of stuff. I glance down at my own outfit, just to compare everything. I'm wearing the same nice dress I've owned since I was nine—only this time, I have it on for my reaping.

My first official one.

Though I can't forget the reaping that happened two years ago, I wore this then, too.

It doesn't take too long to find the twelves section, it's very close to the stage, right by the shaky wooden stairs.

I can see my mother waving to me as I rush under the ropes, she keeps giving me a thumbs up, like today isn't worse for us than it is for everyone else.

Rachel and Haylee don't talk to me in the minutes before the mayor brings the escort out.

All we do is wait.

* * *

><p>District 6: Fallon Zeider<br>_  
>To be left out in the dark<br>To be kicked when you're down  
>To feel like you've been pushed around<br>To be on the edge of breaking down  
>And no one's there to save you<em>

_~Simple Plan, Welcome To My Life~_

* * *

><p>"Give them back!"<p>

"_No."_

And he says it so simply, as if it's the only choice he really has. That's all he ever says to me. _No._ I'm nothing to anyone in this district, just a scrawny and weak and pathetic kid. Someone good for laughs, a punching bag that is solely there to get hit.

Again and again and again—though an occasional kick is given to me at times.

"I'm not kidding around, Addle. Give. Them. Back." I try to sound menacing, but my voice is still quiet. And if anything, I sound like a rodent, whiny, like a little kid. Eleven years old at most. Two years younger than my actual age.

Addle throws a punch, his knuckles connecting with my left arm.

"Why should I?" he taunts mercilessly. "You look better without 'em Four Eyes."

I bite my lip, that hurt, and it will certainly turn into another bruise in a few hours. It's always easy to tell when I've gotten beaten up, which is almost everyday. I've got several scars from fights (though I never hit back,) I've been in and I like to think that it makes me look tough.

Life, however, doesn't feel the same way.

"Just because..." I say, bracing myself for his next punch.

"Well, I've got news—"

"Fallon, are you out here?" The sound of the back door startles both of us, and Addle actually lowers his fist.

Maria—who is pretty smart for her age—comes out of the house and into the small backyard. "Where did you go?"

I don't answer, but she finds me anyway.

"Fallon," she starts, and she looks so small and innocent compared to Addle, who is as huge as a building. "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing, just hanging out." Addle says quickly—a little too quickly.

She looks from me to the bully several times before she sticks out her lower lip. Maria's eyes go wide and I almost forget that she is nine years old. She actually looks like she's three.

Without warning, she throws herself on the ground and lets out an earsplitting wail. Tears fill her eyes, spilling over her eyelashes, traveling down her cheeks. Her pink dress has green splotches on it now—grass stains—and she picks at an old scab on her elbow until it comes off, making the cut look brand-new.

Addle's too stupid to walk away.

"Help!" she cries loudly. "Help me!"

A woman who is on her way to the reaping stops to take in the mess of scene in front of her.

She looks at Addle, the obvious instigator and glares at him. "What did you do to this little girl?"

"Nothing!"

"You expect me to believe she did this to herself?"

"She _did!"_ He protests.

The nameless woman shakes her head. "Stop it, you shouldn't be hurting kids. Go home now, before I tell your dad."

Surprisingly, Addle doesn't argue.

He looks at us both, glaring, and stomps out of the yard.

When he leaves, Maria smiles. "What would you do without me?"

"I don't know." I say, and I mean it.

**ѮѼѮ**

We walk to the reaping together, and Maria is giving me pointers on how to act.

"You know," she says thoughtfully. "You'd get beat up a lot less if you sounded as tough as your scars make you look."

"Like this?" I ask, lowering my childlike voice.

"Yup."

We reach the square in five minutes, and we immediately start to look for my dad. He usually stands by the huge television screen, the one that broadcasts the Hunger Games for all of District 6 to see. He hates being near the shops, around all of the noisy people and gamblers—the ones who place bets on our lives. Not that my dad minds getting an extra buck here or there. Maria says she's seen him making bets after everyone has left.

Go figure.

She runs to my dad, waving to me, still giggling at my "strong voice."

I lose myself in the thirteens section, the second-closest pen to the stage. If one of us was reaped, we'd have to cut across the cameras to get to the steps.

Mayor Preston appears not long after I get myself settled in. He speaks about how the Games started and brings Bertha Gibble, a blue-green woman covered in swirling tattoos, onto the stage.

"Hiya District 6!" she waves to us, several people wave back. "Let's choose our tributes!"

She makes a big deal out of sticking her hand into the bowl, pulling a name out with a flourish. "Get up here Miss Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime!"

A twelve-year old runs out of her pen and into her mother's arms, crying relentlessly.

It's kind of sad, because Peacekeepers actually have to bring her onto the stage.

She's weeping even louder now.

Our escort frowns, she's already holding the next slip.

"Fallon Zeider." is all she says.

Something powerful surges through my veins at the sound of my name.

This is my chance... I can show everyone how tough I really am.

Let the bloodshed begin.

* * *

><p><em>I have a quick question. Do you guys want to read the train rides, or would you prefer to read about the chariot rides and prep, first? I could do both, but the train chapters in other SYOTs can be a little repetitve of the reapings... so if you could put that in your review, that'd be great! <em>

_Thanks!_


	9. Don't Leave Me

**Disclaimer: I don't own the character theme songs or THG.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Reaping, District 7~<strong>

* * *

><p>District 7: Almandine Bandica<p>

_Join all the millions  
>Of victims who prescribe<br>To this mediocre life_

_~Rise Against, Join The Ranks~_

* * *

><p>I turn my nose up at the foul-smelling protein shake Dad places before me, thinking of at least twenty different things I'd rather be eating. Grass, sweat socks, garbage, carrots—and I hate carrots more than any other vegetable he tries to force me to eat. They taste like shit, and I've told him so on more than one occasion.<p>

"Drink it." he commands, like I'll actually listen to him if he sounds menacing enough.

Yeah _right!_

"I'd rather rip my hair out of my scalp."

His frown turns into a sneer, and he starts to speak through clenched teeth. "I don't care what you want to do, you do what I tell you."

"No." I walk out of the room.

It's easier to tune out his shouting when I put some distance between us. I've been told (not by anyone who's opinion means anything to me.) that Old Harold a.k.a King Of The Assholes and I are a lot alike. And it doesn't stop there, sometimes the word exactly is involved. But I don't see it, he's some old loser who spends his time trying to boss me around in a pathetic attempt to relive his glory days. I guess those include the days after he won his Games, when Harold Bandica and _not_ Johanna Mason, was the coolest victor of District 7. When he met my mom and fell in love. It is absolutely pathetic, if you ask me.

"Those days" are over, with a capital O-V-E-R, and it's my turn to win.

That's why I've come up with an alternate exercise regime, because my father's daily pep talks, nasty shakes, and strength-building routines just don't work. He's living in a world where I do what he says because he experienced the Hunger Games, but I'm smarter than him. The Careers in the past few years have been smarter, stronger, faster than they have in the earlier Games—namely Dad's. I have to work even harder than he did if I am going to ally with them. And then, I still have to be better, though I already am in the brain department, if I'm going to kill every last one of them. And believe me, I _will._

I creep upstairs and down the hallway, a very dark and secluded section of the house. Pictures of my dead mother and my once-happy father line the walls. I keep telling him that we need a fucking lamp or something in here, but he never agrees with me.

It feels like they're spying on me, especially because their faces cover every inch of the plaster. And every time I see Dad, I think he'll know that I haven't exactly followed his instructions to the letter.

But he never does.

I stop in front of the door covered in little posters proclaiming the proper ways to stretch, and a training schedule that lists the hours that Dad wants me to spend in each area of our training room.

I want to rip them off, but I don't, choosing to walk inside and head straight to the treadmill.

The machine beeps three times when I turn it on, and I press several buttons until the belt is at the highest inclination and speed possible.

After twenty minutes of running, I head over to the barbells. Dad has warned me that he should always be present when I use them. Something about needing a spotter... whatever.

I'm able to lift the bar at least twice before it falls on my chest.

The impact knocks the breath out of me. I sit there, struggling to lift it off me, but it soon becomes painfully obvious that the damn thing won't budge an inch. I even go as far as to kick my legs in the air, as if that would actually help me.

It doesn't—big surprise there.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Dad's face hovers in the air, eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth pulled down. I can almost _feel_ the disapproval he's aiming at me.

"Working out." I answer, voice catching in my throat.

He rolls his eyes at me. What kind of person treats their kid like they are an idiot? "Well, _that_ turned out nicely. That's why I need to be here to supervise, so you don't turn your lungs into freaking pancakes!"

Blah blah blah. "Just get this thing off me, okay?"

"Fine, Almandine, but next time wait for me."

Dad takes hold of the barbell and lifts it over my head in one swift motion, and I grumble about him being a show-off under my breath. I don't say thank-you or even tell him what a relief it is to be able to breath properly again—I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Go get ready, the reaping starts in less than an hour." my father says, and for once, I don't need to be told twice.

**ѮѼѮ**

I like to look nice almost as much as I like winning—if I don't look good kicking everybody's ass, what's the point?

You know, besides the notoriety and money.

I put on the nicest dress I own, a light green ensemble, and matching earrings. I try to put on my make-up quickly without messing up and I'm pleased to say that I only had to fix one or two mistakes.

When Dad comes to the door, I'm putting my favorite pair of shoes on.

"Come on, we have to leave!"

Normally, I'd be pretty pissed off by his attitude, but I hate having to walk into town alone.

* * *

><p>District 7: Beech Lignum<p>

_And be a simple kind of man.  
>Be something you love and understand.<br>Be a simple kind of man._

_~Lynyrd Skynyrd, Simple Man~_

* * *

><p>Little Maggie is only really happy when she's outside, running around.<p>

She takes me by the hand and drags me towards the front door, giggling as I feebly protest to her demand that we play tag for hours and hours and hours—she doesn't bother to listen when I tell her that there aren't enough hours in the day, and even if there was, our time would still be cut short, just because of what day it is.

She asks the same question every year, or at least every year that she could talk. "What's today, Bee-Bee?"

"Reaping day," I remind her for the millionth time.

"What's that?"

How can I possibly explain that today means certain death for twenty-three kids? "Just a holiday for Panem," I say, "all of the other districts have it, too. That's why we have off school."

"Oh, sounds like fun!"

"Not fun," I say carefully. "You have to remember that, Maggie."

She is deep in thought for what seems like a very long time. "Okay!" she finally says, voice bright.

We play hide-and-go-seek for an hour before I see Aspen leave the house.

Out of my three siblings, only Aspen is eligible for the reaping, and he's only escaped the Hunger Games once. Hopefully, this will prove to be true for today's reaping. The odds are in his favor, that's for sure. I've told him time and time again that it's my job—and only my job—to take things like tesserae, so they have as little a chance of getting reaped as possible.

Aspen walks over to us, cringing when Maggie asks him to join in the fun. "Time to go."

I sigh. "Already?"

My brother nods. "Sadly. Dad said to take Maggie with us, he'll have Willow wheel him over later."

"Okay... did you eat your breakfast?" Aspen is always skipping meals and my concern probably makes him eat even less, but I can't stop myself from asking.

"Yup. Cereal. Yum." he pauses, and what he says next surprises me. "Start worrying about yourself, bro. I'll be fine, and God knows you need someone taking care of you."

"Yeah Bee-Bee!" Maggie chimes in, and somehow this makes Aspen's warning ten times more important.

And with that, we walk hand in hand in reluctant hand down the road, headed straight towards something that nobody really understands.

**ѮѼѮ**

District 7 has the smallest excuse for a shopping center in all of Panem. The general store is really the only "store" worth keeping around, the candy store is hardly ever stocked with anything edible and the toy store has such a little selection that Maggie hardly ever asks me to take her there. The rest of the area is pretty much empty, with the doctor's office located on the other side of the district. Trees encircle the entire place, and they're so big you can hardly ever see the sun through their leaves.

That being said, the sections for the twelve through eighteen year olds are so huge you can fit at least fifty people in the middle alone. I take Maggie with me into the eighteens and tell Aspen to keep his fingers crossed.

My little sister jumps into my arms the second he disappears in the thirteen section. "What happens next, Bee-Bee?"

"We wait for Daddy and Willow to come get you."

"But I want to stay with you!" she exclaims, punching my shoulder.

I try to calm her down, but nothing I say to her seems to have any effect—until Sheena Hans comes into her view.

"Look!" I say, pointing to the fat woman standing next to Mayor Oakley. She is covered in orange polka dots, and Maggie claps.

Orange has always been her favorite color.

"And our female tribute is—"

She is cut off by a loud, "I volunteer!"

The crowd of people falls silent—District 7 never has any volunteers. Ever.

A girl comes out of the fifteens, and I recognize her almost immediately.

Almandine Bandica, daughter of District 7's oldest victor.

Her expression is one of pride, she clearly thinks the world of herself.

Sheena doesn't give her much thought, sticking her hand in the second glass ball. "Our male tribute is..." a pause, "Beech Lignum!"

My world stops.

I can only think of my family, of Maggie, and Willow, and Aspen, and Dad. They _nee_d me.

I walk to Aspen, who stands in the front of his section. I hand him Maggie, who starts to scream like a banshee.

"Take care of them."

He nods.

The last thing I hear as I make my way to the stage is Maggie, shouting, "Come back, Bee-Bee! Don't go!"

* * *

><p><em>Okay, I only did D7's reaping because they were almost done and I wanted to post them. I'm bored of writing reapings, so I'm going to do the chariots for the rest, because I really want to get to the Games. The next update should come today or tomorrow.<em>


	10. Invasion of the Body Snatchers

**Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics or the tributes.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Chariot Rides~<strong>

* * *

><p>District 8: Drizzle Plont<p>

_I'm a girl who wishes on scars  
>You must know that love can fade<em>

_~Hannah Fury, Never Look Back~_

* * *

><p>The Capitol itself isn't so bad.<p>

Don't get me wrong, every single person here is absolutely stupid, talking only of parties and buying things too expensive for me to even consider _looking_ at, let alone owning. But the way they dress... it's kind of cool, like the pictures I look at every night.

My tape... I'll have to look at it tonight... I wonder if there will be a TV in my room. I wouldn't know, since the first thing we did since arriving here was meet our stylists.

Well, Skylark met his, and I was introduced to my prep team.

A group of three people, dyed in varying shades of green. Their names are Nelly, Mo, and Dristan. I like Nelly best because she talks the least and has the most interesting looking tattoos, they are swirling lines crossing over each other in the most elegant pattern. It's as if she's a tightrope walker or something, because the one on my videotape has face-paint that looks almost exactly like that. Mo and Dristan resemble pea-green clowns and won't shut up.

"She's so hairy," Dristan comments in his high-pitched voice.

Mo nods his head. "So _so _hairy, it's gross."

"What's gross is your lack of clothing," I say to Dristan, who is wearing some strange piece of fabric over his waist. "And your snaggle tooth." I tell Mo, who immediately stops laughing at his co-worker.

Before they can respond, a woman with pink hair and matching facial tattoos comes through the door.

"This one has a mouth on her, Palma." Mo warns her.

"I hate those!" The woman—Palma—exclaims, shaking her head.

She walks over to where I sit and inspects me. Palma holds up my left arm, and turns it over in her hand several times. "Nice skin, but she is terribly hairy. We must fix that." The fatso then proceeds to bring me over to another chair.

This one is a lot more comfortable and covered in various buttons of all shapes and sizes.

Before I know what's up, Palma is sticking pieces of paper on me. Only, they're sticky and way more annoying than I could have imagined. Dristan, after five minutes, is told to peel them off—which he does with as little care as humanly possible.

"Oh shit!" I grip the arms of my chair, tears stream down my face before I can stop them.

"See?" Nelly says, "she has no regard for us."

Mo just surpassed her on my cool scale.

Palma says nothing, taking a pair of scissors from the vanity table, and starts snipping away at my hair.

"Hold up!" I shout, propelling forward in my seat. There's no way in hell that she's going to cut my hair, nobody has ever touched it and it's going to stay that way.

"Darn!" My stylist shrieks in her weird Capitol-tone. "Now look what you've made me do!"

She turns the chair around so that I'm facing a huge ceiling-to-floor mirror. I examine my reflection carefully. Nothing is wrong with my face, but I soon realize that a huge chunk of dark hair is missing from the right side of my head. My... my... hair. It's gone! I throw a horrified look at the floor, where the offending lock is scattered.

I point to the mess, glaring at Palma with as much hatred as I can manage. "Fix this!"

The fat-ass puts her hands on her hips. She tries to look at me with a straight face, but she soon breaks down and starts crying.

"I will!" she says through hiccups. "I promise!"

I realize that Palma reminds me of a younger version of Ms. Twill, the old lady who lives down the street from me. I wonder if my she would be just as scared of me, too...

"You'd better... I put a curse on the last person who ruined my hair."

"A curse?" Dristan asks, half scared and half curious.

I don't answer him, a creepy smile is all it takes to shut his mouth.

I settle back into the chair, despite the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I think about why I'm trusting this lady with the rest of my hair. You know, since she already ruined most of it, and it takes me every fiber of my being not to yell at her when she tries to even out the split ends she caused. I remember what my mentor, Cecilia, said on the train.

_Do what your stylist tells you to, it helps in the long run._

Bullshit. They've already made me bald and I haven't even been here an hour. Nelly, Mo, Dristan, and Palma have done nothing _nothing_ to make me trust them. At all. What was Cecilia talking about? Is she on some sort of drug? Morphling? Why should I even trust her? District 8 hasn't even had a victor since her Hunger Games... has she even been _trying_ to get her tributes home? Ms. Twill has always said positive things about her, but I bet none of it's really true... that woman has lost most of her marbles.

Palma puts something strange on my eyebrows and repeats the process she used for my legs. Dristan puts something else that smells like a bunch of toxic chemicals on my head. Nelly is the one to rinse it out an hour or so later.

"There!" Palma sounds proud of herself—that can't be good.

Mo turns my chair around again, so now I'm facing another mirror that magnifies every single flaw on my face.

I can't help the scream that echoes throughout the room.

I _knew_ I shouldn't have trusted them!

* * *

><p>District 8: Skylark Plont<p>

_Then Their Lives Went Down The Drain  
>Drove Them Insane<br>My Birth Was A Curse_

_~Creature Features, Such Horrible Things~_

* * *

><p>My stylist, prep team, and I are not the first ones to arrive at the waiting area. District 2 and 1 are already here, speaking to their own prep teams. They all look like Careers—mean, trained, killing-machines. Born and bred to be part of these Games, here because they <em>want <em>to be, not because their twin sister was reaped.

Nora, my stylist, tells me to wait in an empty chair until Drizzle gets here. I don't argue with her, I am willing to put off having a long conversation with her as long as I can.

"How about I shove this sword up your ass?" a dark-haired girl asks a person who I have to assume is her stylist.

"_Mercy!"_ her district partner exclaims. "That's bad karma and our karma is connected since we're from the same district!"

The girl rolls her eyes. "Does it look like I care?"

"No."

"I thought so." she storms over to the only other unoccupied chair—next to me.

_Great. _It's obvious that this girl is a major asshole and I don't want to be anywhere near her, especially because she's armed. Her stylist dressed her as a Peacekeeper, I guess that means she's from District 2, which is known for their stellar law enforcement. Her outfit is ten times cooler, though, as it has several compartments used for storing knives.

I can't help myself, if there's one weapon I know a lot about, it's a knife. "Is that real?"

"Wanna find out?"

"No," I say, "not particularly,_ but thanks so much for the offer."_

She doesn't know how to react to that, so when her district partner calls her over to the chariots, she goes.

"Bye." I wave to her, and she flinches at my smug tone, or maybe it's that District 2 boy's insistence that she wear his lucky rabbit's foot around her neck. Either way, I still get flipped off.

Not long after Mercy leaves, Drizzle comes over to me—except she doesn't look like Drizzle, she looks like an alien playing host in Drizzle's body. Because the real Drizzle would never, in a million years, cut her hair that short. I can't believe how close it's cropped to her head, or that there are pink streaks in her bangs, or that she's not throwing a tantrum over her lost hair, though she _is_ frowning.

What did those idiots _do_ to her?

"Hey Drizzle," I say tentatively, hiding a smirk. She won't like it if I laugh at her, but she looks ridiculous.

"Shut up." she replies halfheartedly.

I give her a one-armed hug. "Are you okay, sis?"

"I will be." she says, and I let the subject drop.

We watch a District 1's chariot rolls into the stadium. The tributes are dressed in gold, the girl in a dress and the boy in a tuxedo, their accessories are made from multi-colored jewels, all of which looked real. The boy appears stoic, unwilling to take his district partner's hand, though she keeps trying to grab his wrist. I honestly can't blame him, she spent the last fifteen minutes complaining that she'd better get more face time than him.

The audience loves them both, but Angelina seems to get more attention. For every cheer they get, I hear the name Angelina Devon twice as much as I hear Scout Penumbra.

District 2's chariot follows almost immediately after District 1's. Mercy still got stuck wearing the rabbit's foot, which I have to laugh at. The guy, who I've since learned is named Adrian, seems to be the favorite of the two.

"What's so funny?"

I look at my sister, who looks like she thinks I'm just as crazy as I believe her to be.

"Nothing."

The next set of chariots enter the stadium, and Drizzle shuts up, mainly because the cheers make it hard to hear—the screen we are watching everything from make everything louder than it probably is in the City Circle. District 3 is an absolute laugh, even Drizzle cracks a smile at them. The girl, Sukara is dressed as a TV, while the boy, Clint, makes a funny-looking remote. It's obvious—like everything in the Capitol—that it's pissing the girl off.

I wonder how we're going to follow them, I think the Capitol idiots are going to be too amused by them to notice how awesome we are.

I'm still thinking about it when District 4's chariots appear on the screen.

* * *

><p>District 9: Fern Gresham<p>

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
>This pain is just too real<br>There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_~Evanescence, My Immortal~_

* * *

><p>My district partner keeps trying to talk to me, but I can't bring myself to even say hi to him, so the only thing Kale Anson knows about me is my name. And really, he only knows that because of the reaping.<p>

I try to keep my head down, so I can write in my journal. That's what I did the entire time my stylist and prep team gave me a makeover. They tried to take it from me, but I wouldn't let them, so I guess that's why my hair looks lopsided. But it doesn't matter... I don't really care, I was able to spend those five hours I was in the Re-make Center writing letters to my mom.

She'll never get them... but it makes me feel better just the same.

"District 4 is done." Kale says casually.

I lift my head to see the end of Fawn Nolan's mermaid tail dance out of my sight. I guess the boy was dressed in the same way, because the stylists' have a habit of turning District 4 tributes into sex symbols—just like Finnick.

At first, District 5's costumes make no sense, what do black leotards have to do with power? But the stadium lights go out and Autumn and Ransom's identical outfits turn into lightening rods and the whole crowd is awed, but again, I don't really care. Not even when Ransom makes a lewd hand gesture that turns shock into laughter.

District 6 gets very little response, they are supposed to be train conductors, but the hat falls over the little girl's eyes and the boy doesn't do much to attract any positive attention to himself, he's kind of creepy, actually.

Bored, I start writing a letter to Mick, maybe he'll get to read it after I die.

Hopefully.

_Dear Micky,  
><em>_I'm sorry that I never really... I mean, you tried to be a... don't read that part._

I bite my lip, crossing the entire page out.

I finally tear the page out of my journal and start again.

_Dear Mick,  
><em>_You were a great brother. Sorry I shut you out. I know—knew—you loved her, too.  
><em>_With love,  
><em>_Fern.  
><em>_P.S. Don't fight with Dad, he tries—sometimes. _

"Trees." Kale says, again in that same boring tone. "They were trees. Again."

I still say nothing. Maybe he'll get the picture and shut up.

He doesn't. Instead, he talks even _louder._

Kale's voice rises several decibels, and he only says, "Look Fern!"

My head snaps up, and at first I see nothing special, just identical siblings standing side by side in matching patchwork suits. District 8. But then, the girl climbs atop the edge of the chariot and leaps over it so she's on the horses back. She then proceeds to stand on her head, and then with only one hand. The crowd loves them, and they continue to cheer the girl's name—Drizzle.

My stylist, Gregor, pulls me to my feet and beckons Kale to follow him. He puts us in the chariot, while taking my notebook.

I try to make him give it back, but I can't even talk with a volume loud enough for him to hear me.

And just as I say, "Please," the horses move forward with a jolt and we are propelled into the mob.

* * *

><p>District 10: Rowena Wilder<p>

_They try to kick it, their feet fall asleep  
>Get no harm done no<br>None of them want to fight me_

_~Metric, Combat Baby~_

* * *

><p>"Don't tell me what to do."<p>

"But I'm—"

I hold my hand up, and whatever excuse Maximum Bane is coming up with becomes a moot point. "I don't care. Don't tell me what to do, you're not my dad."

"Isn't your—"

"_Shut up!"_

The chariot lurches forward before he can even think of not responding. Our horses—fat animals with muddy brown manes—trot through a set of huge double doors. They follow the path District 9's horses made for them. The girl hardly ever looks up, and I don't blame her. They are dressed as oats. Literally. The screaming and calling is even louder out here than it is in the waiting room, and it's hard to keep from falling off the chariot. I almost lose my balance twice, and both times Max catches me before I hit the pavement.

I refuse to look at him, even to say thanks.

Instead, I focus my attention on the rainbow of Capitol citizens lining the streets. Many of them are waving their programs in the air, chanting my name every once in awhile.

"Rowena!" I almost feel bad that I don't hear Max's name—almost. But for a seventeen year-old he has no tact, so it doesn't bother me for too long.

Sometimes, they even throw scraps of confetti in my face. And I wonder if our sheep costumes have anything to do with it. We don't look remarkable and I don't see why the audience isn't yawning, but it's useless to think about.

Nothing is ever black-and-white in the Capitol.

Our horses eventually skid to a stop in front of President Snow's mansion, as he will read an overview of the Hunger Games from the balcony.

I watch the rest of my competition carefully, the Careers look bored, but I see the District 1 boy looking around, too. I don't worry about them though, most years, the Careers off themselves.

Trust can only go so far in the arena.

The little girl from six takes her over-size conductor's cap off and stares at the unopened doors of Snow's home. I remember her from the reaping recap Max and I saw on the train. I think her name is Wendy. I instantly like her for no other reason than the fact that she reminds me of Fluer, who cried at my reaping the way Wendy cried at hers.

The rest of my thoughts are cut off by Snow's raspy voice as he clears his throat into the microphone.

Time to hear more about how we are supposed to kill each other, I guess.

* * *

><p>District 11: Lily Flores<p>

* * *

><p>After President Snow recites his speech we are herded back to our rooms.<p>

Bengal and I have to wait until I get the chance to press the eleven button on the elevator to get to our rooms.

It's interesting because I haven't ever been on an elevator before, well, except for that one time in the Justice Building, but Bengal had clung to my leg the entire time, scared because of the flickering lights. This time, I make sure to keep my stylist in between the both of us and Chaff, because he's weird, what with his one arm and terrible drinking habits.

I keep my eyes trained on the floor, watching as the people turn into dots as we rise higher and higher in the air.

When I can't see the people anymore, my thoughts immediately go to strategy. The single most important facet of the Hunger Games. The first thing I plan is to not kill Bengal, mainly because he's so young and I don't want to have to explain the concept of survival of the fittest to Andre, who hates eating the occasional Groosling we find because he just doesn't want to kill an animal. I also decide to find as many informative books as I can when we reach our rooms, because I can't possibly learn everything in three days.

When the doors open, I leave Bengal, Loretta, and Chaff behind and walk to my room alone, knowing that no one would be able to help me.

The first thing I do when I get to my room is wash off the yellow and green make-up Loretta and her prep team painted on my face.

They dressed us as cornstalks—can you believe it?

I doubt anyone remembers us... District 11 rarely gets sponsors and most of our tributes bleed to death in that very first fight.

Stepping out of my costume and putting on some pajamas, I head over to the large bookshelf on the other side of the room. It towers over my head and spans across the entire wall. I spend at least an hour searching for books on nature or weapons or even something related to the Capitol's history, but I don't find anything.

Nothing useful, at least. Though I do decide to read a book called: _Candy's Search For The Glittering Puppy._

I can't even get past the first chapter.

The pages are filled with nonsense, and it mentions how great the Capitol is every other sentence and how awful the districts are between every comma.

Is Panem's epicenter really that oppressive?

The answer is yes, of course, and I'm forced to remember when my mother got whipped for taking just one more berry.

I put the book down, my eyes feel way too heavy to read anymore...

I dream of whips and puppies and death.

* * *

><p>District 12: Brandon Carl Kindle<p>

_When I walk in the spot, this is what I see  
>Everybody stops and they staring at me<em>

_~LMFAO, Sexy And I Know It~_

* * *

><p>I wash the thick black make-up off my face, but it seems to be permanent, at least on my scar.<p>

I can't remember where I got it, and my prep team hated having to work around it. They spent hours and hours trying to make it completely invisible, and even Portia, who seems pretty sane as far as stylists' go, was frustrated with it.

After twenty minutes, I give up and settle for scrubbing the "coal dust" off my body.

The chariot rides were a complete bust, nobody will remember us even though our outfits weren't the worst ones out there, that prize went to District 3. The award for worst hair definitely goes to the District 8 girl, Drizzle, though I did think it was cool how she did a hand stand during the lull in cheering, that was smart.

I actually ran into her on the elevator and our exchange went a little like this:

"_That was cool. You know, what you did during the chariots."_

_She ignored me, pressing the "eight" button with more force than necessary. I pretended that it didn't bother me, but after a few awkward moments of silence I decided to repeat myself._

"_Your trick was pretty cool!" I said loudly._

"_I wish I could say the same thing about you." Drizzle answered dryly. "Oh... wait! No I don't."_

_I glared at her. "You know what?"_

"_No, but I'm not going to wait around for you to tell me."_

_She practically ran out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, leaving me puzzled and alone._

* * *

><p><em>Sorry if some POV's seem short, I wanted to get this chapter out tonight like I said I would. I didn't write a POV for the bloodbath tributes, because I decided that would be pointless. Also, MinervaLilyPotter, I couldn't find a theme song that fit Lily, so I left it blank. I hope that's okay. <em>

_Read & review, please!_


	11. Keep Your Friends Close

**Disclaimer: I don't own the tributes, quotes, or the Hunger Games.**

* * *

><p><em>THREE MORE CHAPTERS UNTIL THE GAMES!<em>

_Okay, first off, I'm outting up a profile for your favorite tribute so far. It won't effect the overall deaths, but it'll help me focus on the storylines you most want to read about. I decided to do an occasional mentor-themed chapter, as mentioned in an earlier update so..._

_Here's a list of the mentors for this year's Hunger Games:_

_**District 1:** Lacey Luxe_

_**District 2:** Gabriel Ashford_

_**District 3:** Beetee Sparks_

_**District 4:** Zane Dalis – an the occasional appearance of Finnick, because I love him._

_**District 5:** Vale Morris_

_**District 6:** Cara Breen _

_**District 7:** Johanna Mason_

_**District 8**: Cecilia Nylon_

_**District 9:** Katrina Cruz_

_**District 10:** Ollie Rhodes_

_**District 11:** Chaff Meadows_

_**District 12:** Haymitch Abernathy_

* * *

><p><em>"It's all to do with the training: you can do a lot if you're properly trained." <em>

_~Elizabeth II~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 1: Angelina Devon<p>

* * *

><p>The training room is one of the biggest rooms I've ever seen.<p>

Weapons of every shape, color, and size line the walls. Mats and protective cushioning are on the floor, placed there in such a way that it seems like it will be almost impossible to hurt anyone, intentionally or otherwise.

I throw a sideways glance at Scout, who hasn't said a single word to me since we boarded the train. He hardly did anything except watch the reaping recap, and ever since then I've been confused about his attention span. He concentrated on that, but he only gives me one-word answers when I ask him questions. And don't think I don't resent him for it, I deserve to have every single eye on me at all times, no matter who I'm speaking with.

"I think..." I trail off when he starts to walk away from me.

Who does he think he _is?_ Nobody, and I mean _nobody_, walks away from Angelina Devon.

"And just where do you think _you're_ going?" I demand, catching up to him before he makes his way across the room.

He looks at me for a few seconds, smirks, and points to a large table covered with a lacy white tablecloth. "Over there, brainless. We have to sign in first."

"I knew that," I say haughtily.

I think I hear him mutter something sarcastic under his breath, but I can't really be sure about it, not when he says it so quietly.

Well, what_ever!_ It's not like I'm going to be taking orders from him anyway... I've spent too much time preparing for this moment to not lead the Careers to the final six. I have got it all planned out... I'll lead a few hunts for the other tributes, get the best kills, (the most sponsor points) and ultimately be the next victor of the Games. And then... then I'll be showered in gold and adoration and Jordan will be sorry he ever tried to outshine me... and Mom and Dad! I can't forget about them! When I win, it'll be like Abbi the asshole never existed!

This can only end well for me!

I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for a blue Capitol lady to pin a number on my back. She's taking too long helping Scout out, and she hasn't even noticed my hot pink tracksuit. I found it in my closet this morning when I woke up, and, knowing that I'd look totally hot in it, I just_ had _to put it on. In fact, I'm thinking about how many compliments I'll get for it that I'm startled when someone clears their throat.

"Hurry up!" Scout says and I can tell his patience—or lack thereof—is wearing thin.

I look down at my outfit, where a sparkly pink "one" is pinned to my jacket. I wonder when that happened...

I roll my eyes. "You can hold on! Nobody's going to start without _me!"_

"_Really?"_ he nods toward a group of people gathered by the target practice section of the gym. I guess they're the rest of our allies or something, because Scout wouldn't look so smug if it was anyone else.

"Humph."

I don't look him in the eyes when I stomp past him, making a beeline for the other four tributes. I mean, I really don't have time to deal with this! How _dare_ they start making plans without me! Don't they know who they're dealing with?

"What's going on?" I ask the second I'm within earshot.

The guy with a yellow "four" on his chest is the only one to answer me. "Wondering when you guys were going to show up."

I stare at the pathetic bunch of losers in front of me. They all seem ten times weaker, more stupid, and lazier than I am. I don't see how I'm supposed to work with these morons. Especially that girl from four, who hasn't even _noticed_ me yet!

"Don't you mean _if?"_ The District 2 girl says.

And that's when I decide to put my foot down.

"Listen up!" I announce in the most authoritative voice I can manage. "This is how things are going to work. You,"—I point to the tributes from four—"are going to scope out the other tributes. District 2..." I try to remember the guy's name, but I can't come up with it.

"Adrian." Someone tells me.

"Yeah. Adrian... you go work with the spears. And Scout and Whatever-your-name-is can go to the plant I.D. station."

Scout looks highly pissed off now, his teeth are clenched and he looks a little red in the face. He'd be stupid to try to contradict me, but he realizes this at the last second and stalks off before he has the chance to do anything stupid.

Good for him.

The girl from two doesn't move, though, and I don't know why she isn't jumping at the chance to get on my good side—the idiot.

"Who died and made you queen?"

_Excuse me?_ She did _not _just say that!

"No one." I say, speaking slowly, because obviously she is dumber than I first thought. "I was born queen."

"You're an idiot."

I slap her across the face.

It's a knee-jerk reaction, leftover from when Abbi was still alive. It's like my body physically repels people who think they're better than me.

District 2 puts her hand to her cheek, grits her teeth, and then lunges at me.

But I don't feel any pain.

An official—rather, a trainer from the hand-to-hand combat booth that happened to be standing nearby—catches her around the waist and pulls her off in the opposite direction. She's screaming horrible things at me and he's reading her the riot act. No fighting, training or otherwise, before the Games blah blah blah.

I smile.

After a few minutes, I feel bored enough that I actually decide to show-off a little bit. I wasn't originally going to do much of anything... I've already mastered most every weapon... and doing the same thing over and over again is dull, but I decide that I got off on the wrong foot with everyone, they just don't see how awesome I am. Maybe a little damage control is needed here...

My eyes land on a set of throwing knives glittering on the wall.

_Perfect._

I walk over to the open area, grab a dummy from the abandoned pile to the right of the knives, and start target practice.

Or, I try to.

Someone else comes up and grabs both of the knives' handles before I do.

I whirl around, ready to fight for the weapons if I have to. A girl with black hair and green eyes stares back at me with a look of pure annoyance. The label on her chest tells me she is from six.

The unnamed girl uses the time I've taken to figure out who she is to make sure she has the knives. She heads over to_ my_ dummy and throws one knife mannequin's head.

I start to yell at her, but I realize that the blade has gone right through the thing's eye. Fake blood pours from its wound, creating a puddle on the blue mat, staining it.

Holy freaking crap!

She's actually... kind of... _okay._

"What's your name?" I ask her.

She studies me for a second before saying, "Almandine."

"Welcome to the Careers." I stick my hand out, and she takes it almost without a thought, sealing the deal.

* * *

><p>District 3: Clint Manti<p>

* * *

><p><em>Deep breaths... deep breaths. <em>

I tell myself this repeatedly. Over and over and over again, until the loud buzz of the training gym begins to fade away, turning into white noise. I try to keep my thoughts clear, free of the stresses Lillian and even Emily gave me before I left District 3. I tell myself that Dad will make sure she's safe and Ace will definitely calm Em down. Everything. Will. Be. Okay.

_Okay..._

My muscles begin to relax and I gently chastise myself for not meditating before that reaping... for not relaxing.. for worrying over Em and Lily and Ace and Dad and myself. Everyone.

_Worrying for nothing... _I think, _nothing at all..._

I feel like I'm floating on air by now. Life, despite the imminent threat of the Hunger Games, is peaceful. So tranquil...

And then it's ruined.

I jump when a loud _bang_ rings in my ears. It sounds like pots and pans clattering on the floor, like a huge mess, so close to me... _too_ close, really. My eyes open instinctively, immediately searching for any danger, because surely something terrible is about to get me... except nothing harmful is in a close radius to me—or any of the other tributes for that matter—and I instantly feel stupid, especially because now I'm jumping at even the smallest of noises.

And then I realize that it was only a piece of armor somebody knocked of its hook.

That's. It.

But still—I can't seem to get rid of the fear growing inside of me.

* * *

><p>District 8: Drizzle Plont<p>

* * *

><p>"I hate my hair."<p>

"I know, you've told me a thousand and one times already."

I huff indignantly. "Make it a thousand and two, then."

Skylark looks at me quizzically, like somehow he knows that my hair is not the only thing bothering me, though I'm still cursing Palma for making me look half-bald, the bitch.

"What's really wrong?"

"This entire thing, Skylark! One of us has to die, and I don't know who I want it to be." I sigh, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Most people, or at least most people _I_ know, would take that as an insult. I'm certain they would feel like I spat in their face, but not Skylark. He gets it—gets _me._ He knows I don't want him dead, but that I mean that I'm not really sure of what's worse. Death or life. Most victors from eight will tell you that dying is the best option, but I want to live—and I want my brother to live, too..

It's awful.

He puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. "I know, Drizzle. I know."

"Good."

"Oh... how_ touching!"_

I look up at the sound of a new voice breaking into a conversation.

Mercy Tenebrae is standing in front of us, an annoying smirk on her face.

"What do _you_ want?" I demand, glaring at her.

She throws an irritated glance over her shoulder, and I can tell that she's looking at that girl from District 1. "A sharper knife."

"Yeah," Skylark agrees, "I think several people would be more than happy to get one for you."

"Would _you_ be one of them?"

This conversation just morphed into something that doesn't include me, and it pisses me the hell off. Skylark never excludes me from anything. As kids, I remember him purposely scraping his knee whenever I did, just so I wouldn't have to be the only one who was hurt... the only one who cried.

That memory alone makes me mad enough to leave him there, not that he'd even realize I left.

_Humph._ Whatever. I don't need him either, I have more important stuff to attend to, like learning how to use weapons and how to tie knots. Things that my dumb brother is too stupid to do. In fact... I could try to use those things. Swords that resemble tridents, only much cooler looking. I walk over to where they sit on the wall. The little tag underneath it tells me that they are Sai Swords.

I take one off the peg and begin to stab a nearby dummy with it. Repeatedly, until my anger at Skylark has faded away.

"Hey!"

I jump. Turn around.

Damn it! It's that kid from the elevator.

"What are you doing?" he asks with genuine curiosity, the same kind from before.

"None of your business," I reply, hoping he'll leave me alone.

He doesn't even blink.

This is going to be a long-ass day.

* * *

><p>District 7: Beech Lignum<p>

* * *

><p>When I see little Wendy talking to Bengal, I can't help but to think of Maggie and her friends.<p>

Of course, these kids are clearly capable of holding a real conversation, one that doesn't involve flowers or cookies or candy, but my heart still goes out to them nonetheless.

I drop the piece of rope I had been holding and walk over to them.

They are talking about berries—what kinds are good to eat and what aren't.

"Nightlock is bad."

"But strawberries aren't." Wendy says.

"Hey guys."

They both turn to me, semi-scared expressions on their faces. "Hi." Bengal answers.

I decide to cut right to the chase.

"Do you guys need another ally?"

They only consider my offer for a few seconds. "Sure."

Good. Now Maggie won't remember me as a violent killer, she'll just remember me as dead.

* * *

><p><em>What do you think of the tribute interaction so far? And I have all the alliances planned out, and as you can see in this chapter. There will be more on the BeechWendy/Bengal alliance next chapter which will be way longer._


	12. And Your Enemies Closer

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the crap with copyrights.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Love your enemies just in case your friends turn out to be bastards."<em>

_~Unknown~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 4: Fawn Nolan<p>

* * *

><p>Angelina Devon is stupid.<p>

From the first second she opened that huge mouth of hers, I knew that.

Aside from just assuming she would be in charge of the alliance, she gave everyone the most ridiculous jobs ever. Scout, though he is clearly mentally unstable, would have been a help to me. He's smart, scrawny for a District 1 guy, but still clever. He looks like he knows how to analyze people and the only way I would know that for sure is if he went tribute-searching with me. And Cameron isn't observant at all—he's too easygoing. Not sharp enough to notice the little quirks about people.

"Look over there!" I tell him, pointing to the tiny group of misfits talking by the berry station.

Cameron eyes fall on the two twelve year-olds—and the guy approaching them. "I wonder what's going on there."

See? What sort of person doesn't recognize the formation of an alliance when they see it? Beech, the guy from District 7, has been pacing back and forth all over the training gym, clearly debating over whether or not he should go over to them.

I know why, too.

He has a younger sister, which I learned from the recap on the train, so it's no big surprise that he wants to work with the two weakest tributes here.

And Wendy... well, she clicked with Bengal and if he wanted to ally with Beech, then surely she'd agree.

"They're obviously allies, Cameron."

He stares at them for awhile, and then he finally agrees with me. "Sure. I can see that."

"Good." I mutter.

I observe them for a few minutes longer before I finally decide to look for my biggest competition—other than the people I'm working with. There's Sukara Ravo, who has a terrible temper, maybe even worse than Angelina, and refuses any help from the trainer, who keeps trying to show her the correct way to hold a spear. And Brandon Kindle, who is now following Drizzle around like a lost puppy. Not a big issue, but that info might come in handy later on.

_Note to self: Brandon + Drizzle = Stupidity._

"Come on," I tap my district partner on the shoulder. "Time to go."

Cameron looks up at me, nods, and then stands up.

We head over to the plant identification station, because, usually, the smart tributes hang out there. Smart tributes are notoriously useful for remembering the stuff stupid people—like Angelina—normally forget. Like which plants are safe to consume and which ones will kill you upon contact. I figure someone like that would be useful—even if our "All-knowing Leader" doesn't think so.

The District 5 tribute immediately calls attention to herself.

It's not because she is loud or obnoxious or arrogant. In fact, she is nearly the exact opposite. Quiet, but wild-looking. She obviously doesn't give a damn about her appearance, as she didn't bother to use the fancy hair-styling station built in every single bedroom on every single floor. (It's impossible to not see one, because several of those gadgets line the walls outside of the training center bathrooms.) Though what she lacks in style, she makes up for in brains. The five girl has marked every single answer on her poisonous foliage quiz correctly.

"Fawn!" Cameron says, punching me on the arm. "She's _staring_ at us."

"Hmm... who?" I blink, lifting my eyes from the girl's paper.

"The giant clown with the purple balloons."

At first, I think he means the instructor—a man-lady with yellow hair, giant boobs, and a mustache—but it soon becomes clear that he's being sarcastic. Cameron's talking about the girl with the crazy hair.

I roll my eyes. "You're scared of..." I trail off.

She is staring at me—and it's kind of creepy. It's unsettling to make eye contact with her, so I look away quickly.

"Who _are_ you?" Cam asks.

She responds carefully, almost defensively. "Autumn."

I know I can't stay here with her watching me like that, so I back away from Autumn, making another mental note.

_Autumn: Good with plants. Might possibly be mentally unbalanced. Remember her._

* * *

><p>District 9: Fern Gresham<p>

* * *

><p>I wish I could draw better.<p>

Every single sketch I make is either lopsided or unrealistic or both—mostly both.

I'm more of a writer. Words are easier to use, at least when they're written down. I'm hopelessly awkward when it comes to actually talking. Which tends to involve other people and emotions and vulnerability, which isn't good.

_Not good at all,_ I think, erasing a crudely made picture of my mother. _Nothing is ever good._

She always said she loved my drawings, that they should be displayed in President Snow's mansion. I flip back to my earlier journal entries, where my mother had taken it upon herself to write the titles of my "masterpieces" in neat letters at the top of the page. The date scribbled just above my artwork, I smile for a second, remembering what my mom told me every time she looked in my journal.

_Never give up Fern. Follow your dreams._

She was sappy like that, not to mention completely and totally wrong.

Some dreams just aren't worth following.

Sighing, I shut the book. Something tells me that Katrina, my bossy mentor, won't be too happy if I come back still as useless as I was when left her in the dining room.

I don't know how I end up walking over to the knife throwing station... but I know it's a mistake the second I see a curved dagger lying on the floor, right next to a dismembered dummy. It's covered in blood, too. Well, fake blood, though it looks so realistic. It even _smells_ like copper, just like real blood does. I back away, and I run into a wall. And crap... it's covered in various sharp pieces of metal... knives... and even the pegs they sit on seem sharp. I don't like the way my stomach twists at the mere sight of them.

I manage to escape having a mini-heart attack and walk over to where some of the other tributes stand, talking in the middle of the station.

Actually, there are only two other people in the area.

The District 1 girl and the District 7 girl. I think their names both begin with an A or something.

One of them says something—probably mean in nature, but I can't really hear—and the other nods, then the first girl laughs.

I flinch. Something about their laughter seems... _wrong._

The District 1 girl's eyes flicker over to me, and the six girl's gaze follows.

I freeze under their watchful staring.

More laughter, and though I can't be sure I heard correctly, I think I hear them say the word "target."

* * *

><p>District 12: Brandon Carl Kindle<p>

* * *

><p>I honestly don't know why Drizzle is being so... rude.<p>

I mean, I haven't done anything to her... at least I don't _think_ I did. She can't be mad about when I talked to her on the elevator, can she? I only complimented her on her gymnastics skills... I didn't say anything offensive, did I? I couldn't have... I've gone over our conversation in my head at least a thousand times. I had clearly been nice. Amiable. And just now... I'm only trying to help her out.

"The knot tying station is open." I say as kindly as I can manage.

She grumbles a word that sounds like duck-bed under her breath. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"You're not welcome."

She gives me a look, and it's one that could melt the flesh off of a muttation. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"That's probably for the best." I admit.

I follow her over to the teacher, who is a purple-eyed man with gray hair. I wonder why he only decided to alter his eyes and not the rest of his face.

He starts talking right away. Something about how to make a proper noose, but Drizzle isn't listening, her eyes keep drifting over to her twin brother. I notice that the District 2 girl hasn't left his side. She looks jealous... which is actually a little annoying, but I choose to ignore it. Maybe I'll be able to take her mind off of it.

"Look at this!" I hold up a lopsided-looking circle-thing, my example of this guy's explanation of a noose.

She doesn't even look my way.

"Are you jealous or something?" I ask, slightly irritated.

"What?" she snaps, glaring at me for the tenth time today. "Hell no!"

She doesn't even try to sound like she means it. Her cheeks turn a bright red color, though she still maintains a look of pure anger on her face. It would have been attractive if her rage hadn't been directed at me. Drizzle has shown me the first inkling of vulnerability she has expressed in awhile and it's sort of good in a way, or at least I think so. But now she's yelling at me... not good.

"What the hell do you mean by that anyway?" Drizzle demands.

"Um... just that you look upset."

Her next response surprises me. "I don't want him to do anything..." she pauses, "stupid." She sounds a little sincere.

I smile—just a little bit.

A buzzing noise comes over the loudspeaker, cutting off my next response.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen. Training is over for today."

**ѮѼѮ**

The next day passes without consequence. Drizzle doesn't mention our "moment" and neither do I.

I try not to let it bother me too much.

* * *

><p><strong>Private Session Scores:<strong>

Angelina: 7

Scout: 10

Mercy: 9

Adrian: 8

Sukara: 6

Clint: 4

Fawn: 9

Cameron: 8

Ransom: 7

Autumn: 8

Wendy: 3

Fallon: 5

Almandine: 10

Beech: 5

Drizzle: 6

Skylark: 7

Fern: 4

Rowena: 5

Lily: 5

Brandon: 4

* * *

><p><em>Okay... the arena has been decided. It's going to be a haunted woodshouse filled with creepiness and whatnot. Remember, please vote in the poll. I only got one vote so far... and sorry this is shorter than I first planned. Exams and my friend decided to be difficult this week._


	13. Of Pawns and Kings

**Disclaimer: I don't own THG or the quote or the tributes.**

_Happy belated birthday to DustyStroodle228—I'm glad you counted the last chapter as a gift._

_And this is the last pre-Games chapter, so expect a quicker update. Excuse my terrible knowledge of chess in this chapter, my dad tried to teach me once and it didn't end well... so sorry for any mistakes on that. Also, I don't think I say how much I love reading every review I get. Thank you so much for reading guys!_

* * *

><p><strong>~The Interviews~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>A friend of mine, now retired, was then a major exec at a major bank, and one of her jobs, the last four years, was the farewell interview.<em>

_~Unknown~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 4: Fawn Nolan<p>

* * *

><p>"Okay, so you remember how I told you that the interviews were, like, the most important part of the Games?"<p>

"Yup." In fact, I can recall the entire exchange perfectly—the way he smiled when he described what it felt like to talk in front of an entire stadium of pod-people, how many sponsor points he received as a result of his wittiness...

"Earth to Fawn!" Zane's tanned hand is a blur moving before my eyes.

I frown at him. What the hell is he _doing?_ "I'm listening."

"Good." he says, smiling. "As I was saying... you have to multiply that by ten now. Got it?"

"Their importance?"

"No, their uselessness. _Yes,_ their importance. What else is there?"

I turn away from him. He never gets upset with me, and I really don't want him to start now. Not when this is our only day left together. Well... the last one where I haven't killed twenty-three other people, at least. And I plan on making the very best of it, not that Zane will help me out. He's too busy trying to be a hotshot mentor. I bet Finnick wouldn't be as difficult to get along with.

I hear him sigh and I picture a look of regret on his face. "Look... I just want you to get sponsors, that's all. You're part of the Careers and they're notorious for stabbing their allies in the back. If you have sponsors, they'll be less likely to chop your head off."

"You act like I can't fight them—or anyone." I point out. "And you're the one who spent six hours a day training with me."

"One against four is never an easy fight." says Zane ruefully.

"Five."

"What?"

I roll my eyes. "Five. One against _five._ Angelina let Almandine Bandica join us."

"That's not good." Zane sounds upset, but I can hear a bit of his lighthearted tone seeping back into his voice. "Which leads me back to sponsor points... you have to have them."

"Fine. But I don't even have an angle or anything. What am I supposed to do?"

He starts thinking. I mean, _really_ thinking. He is so deep in thought that I can actually make a few jokes about the smell of burning hair. If I didn't know any better, I'd say we switched brains, because I'm the one who makes informed choices. I'm the one who scoffs at his "funniness." His word, not mine.

"Play up your intelligence." he says after awhile, knocking on the side of my head.

"What?" I'd thought he'd give me something better to work with.

He sighs theatrically. "You notice a lot of crap—you're smart. Use that. No one ever uses that angle."

I think about it. He's right, of course. I've never seen anyone play up having a brain before, at least not anyone not from District 3. Most Careers are either deadly or sexy. Other districts are shy or funny or sweet, and anyway, for the past few years the District 3's have been too weak and small to act like anything other than scared.

But will it keep people's attention?

_Fawn Nolan: The Smart One._

Caesar will probably mention my two dead siblings—Zane already told me that, and I could use their mistakes, like I did with my training. Only this time I'll be talking about it, not practicing it.

Simple enough, I suppose.

"You really think this could work?" I ask.

"I know it will," says Zane, who suddenly sounds wise beyond his years.

Sounds good to me.

"Alright, then." I say.

And then we start practicing.

Zane pretends to be Caesar, and he sounds almost exactly like him, right down to the inflections on the end of his words. I have to stop answering his questions several times to laugh—he's just _that_ funny. And then I realize something: I haven't even chuckled since my since my sister died.

Wow.

I've spent more than half my life being unhappy, and on today of all days, I'm beginning to have a little fun. I'd say I hate irony, but I don't think I do—not now, but that will probably change the second I'm standing in that tube, waiting to be launched into the arena.

But... for once... I just decide to live in the reality of _this_ moment.

* * *

><p>District 2: Adrian Perham<p>

* * *

><p>The interviews are held in a large stadium that is almost the size of Snow's house, but it falls just a few square feet short of elaborate.<p>

It looks like a Colosseum, which is a word we learned last year in school. According to Mr. Chambers, they are huge arenas where people fought to the death, much like we are about to. If it wasn't so wrong in terms of karma, I'd probably be laughing right now.

The attendees from the Capitol get the best seats, which are built in to the stadium walls, and we are forced into twenty four chairs lined up in a waiting area, sort of like with the Chariots, only that room was both darker and larger.

A blue man comes into the room, holding a purple clipboard in his hands. "District 1 female?"

Angelina practically flies out of her chair. "Me! That's me!"

"Okay, you're up." He takes a pencil from behind his ear and writes something on his paper.

Two double doors open and Angelina smooths out the wrinkles from her overly-bedazzled skirt. Her name is announced, though she leaves about two seconds ahead of time, running down the long red carpet. I shake my head, her behavior is angering the Karma Gods, I just _know_ it. I hope I don't get any of her bad luck by being her ally... that would suck. Badly.

And to make matters worse, her angle is obvious from the first question Caesar asks.

"So Angelina, how are you enjoying the Capitol?"

"Oh Caesar, it's amaaazing!" Does she have to draw out every syllable? And do eyes normally roll that far back into a person's head? Is she having an orgasm on the stage?

I cringe... ew.

"Is it better than life in District 1?" he actually sounds genuinely interested in what she has to say.

She answers almost immediately. I bet she doesn't even breathe... "It's about the same. Like, we have a really huge house and I have a huge bed..." She reaches forward and puts a hand on the dude's inner thigh.

She just hand-raped Caesar Flickerman.

"Oh look!" he says, running a hand through his orange-colored hair. "We're out of time! Sorry Angelica ."

She looks like she wants to protest, but she is interrupted by a loud buzzer.

The blue guy returns and ushers Scout Penumbra, who is dressed in a button-down shirt and khaki pants, onto center-stage. He seems really uncomfortable being around all of these sparkly rainbow people, but he tries not to let it show.

Caesar crosses his legs, still bothered by Angelina's sexual assault—the poor guy.

"Nice to meet you Scout." he says, trying to maintain a calm face.

He snorts.

And that's it.

"What do you think your odds are. Being from District 1 must be an advantage, don't you think?"

The cameramen zoom in on his face. I can see every muscle in his face twitch as he tries to smile as politely as he can (and maybe it's the jumbo-screen,) but he can't pull it off. Those eyes of his look too calculating for kindness.

"Sure."

He volleys yes and no answers back and forth until the buzzer rings again and he is told to go to another waiting room on the other side of the stadium.

Mercy is next.

And after she goes... I'll be up.

She also seems bothered by the Capitol attendant sent to retrieve her. I'm starting to think every last one of us hates the way these guys act, whether we're from a rich district or not.

At first, Caesar appears to be semi-relieved. The tributes from District 2 usually do well in the interviews and score tons of brownie points that way, but I can tell you that Mercy and I will be the exception.

Our mentor has advised my district partner to do whatever she can to be likable, which she is clearly attempting to do, though she keeps looking at the mentor's section for confirmation. And Gabriel gives her as much sign-language advice as he can. It's funny, really. Part one of the universe's payback has started.

"What about guys?" Caesar asks, "do you have a boyfriend back home?"

That's when her head snaps back to him. _"Lots of them."_ she sneers, and again, I feel bad for the guy. Today's not his day.

When it's time for Mercy to leave, I close my eyes and hold on to my necklace. _It's going to be okay... I've been nice lately... I haven't even used those faulty saltshakers in the dining room. _I also try to remember what Gabriel told me. Act sane. Because, somehow, having lucky numbers for my lucky numbers is weird—even for me.

Vexon Dale—I finally learned his name—makes yet another check mark on his schedule and says, "District 2 male, on deck."

I take two deep breaths and take my position in front of the doors.

The walk from the holding area to the two chairs sitting in the middle of a platform. It has bright lights and the stage is raised, and I'm sort of afraid I'm going to fall on my ass. The yelling doesn't help, either. Everywhere I look I see blue people, green tattoos, purple stripes, cat-like faces, dog ears—it's fucking crazy.

"Hello Adrian."

I nod to Caesar, taking my seat. It's really comfortable, at least comfortable enough for me to relax just a little bit.

I wait two more beats before I say anything. "Hey Caesar."

"You look a little tense." he observes. He doesn't say it to be mean, he's trying to help.

_One. Two._ "A little."

"You know what helps me?" Caesar doesn't wait for a response. "Talking about my family."

_One. Two._ "Good idea... I have a sister."

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows. They're yellow, not orange like his spiky hair... he looks like a flame. "What's she like?"

I only count to one this time. "Crazy."

He laughs. "I know what you mean. My sister's pretty insane too. Does yours spend hours in front of the mirror?"

"Yup. But my girlfriend, Gen, spends even more time in there than my sister does." I roll my eyes.

"Oh, you have a girlfriend! Did she give you that necklace?"

"This?" I touch the wooden charm again. "No, it's my good luck charm."

"It couldn't hurt, could it? Having a good luck symbol. It might keep you alive."

"Right." I say, nodding. "I have a bunch of them. Rabbit's feet, clovers, magnets..."

"Well, here's hoping they help you." Caesar tells me, winking as a loud noise—the buzzer—makes me jump out of my seat.

_I hope so, too, _I think, but something reminds me that I'm going to need more than luck to win these Games.

* * *

><p>District 5: Ransom Sage<p>

* * *

><p>I sigh.<p>

The amount of hot girls in this waiting room is getting smaller and smaller by the three-minute mark.

The District 3 girl, Sukara Ravo, mutters to herself as the giant blueberry guy leads her to the doors. She's kind of cute... actually, she'd be ten times hotter if she wasn't so damn pissed off all the time. So far, she's yelled at her district partner for wearing a tie that matched her dress, kicked a chair for something I'm not sure of, and glared at me. But that's probably because I'm so sexy—I hope.

She is argumentative from the very start.

Sukara makes a big show of stomping her way down the carpet and literally flopping into her chair.

Caesar attempts to smile at her. "Hello Miss Ravo. Don't you look nice?"

"No." she thinks it over for a minute. "And neither do you."

I laugh, Caesar's eyes narrow, and the crowd whispers nervously.

A few insults later, Suka leaves the stage the same way she entered.

I don't pay much attention to Clint's interview, because, you know, he doesn't have boobs, but from what little I _did_ hear, he was very calm. Almost philosophical, I guess. It looks like he's the orange guy's new favorite—I don't think Clint insulted him once.

Anyway, I perk up considerably when Fawn Nolan's face came on the screen. I expected her to play the sex-sells angle, like everyone from District 4 does, but boy, I've never been more wrong about anything.

She's acting _smart_.

And now that I really look at her dress, it doesn't even show any cleavage... damn it!

I slump in my seat, defeated.

Mr. Blue-flavored Pop-tart calls out, "District 4 male!"

Cameron puts on a winning smile and strolls right on through the double doors.

Good God, he's going to be charming... I wonder if this will leave all twelve of the female tributes fawning over him. Well, I guess so; it worked for Finnick Odair.

Cam talks of his girlfriend, Cora Glass, and I picture her as a blonde bombshell with a massive chest. She hates wearing bras—or any sort of clothing for that matter. Who cares if Cameron describes her as modest and respectable?

Certainly not _me._

His three minutes end. The crowd boos.

Autumn is not happy to leave the room, but I feel safer with her gone. Less creeped out. Which is really fucking weird, because I hadn't even realized that she was bothering me until after she left. Even though she's my district partner—who I should probably ally with—the way she watches everything gives me a serious case of the willies.

She might be the very first one the Gamemakers kill off. And it's just a guess, but I don't think they like thinly-veiled comments about the Capitol's evilness. But who the hell knows? I might be wrong.

But probably not.

"District 5 male?"

I jump, tearing my eyes away from Fern Gresham, who is decidedly way hotter than Autumn. About a five and a half on Ransom Sage's Patented Sexy Scale.

I quickly pull my shirt down. All of this girl-rating isn't good for my over-active libido—especially because I'm going to be on national television in five seconds. The blue man taps his foot and groans, all but pushing me out of the doors.

I spot two semi-normal Capitol girls in the crowd and wink at them, but they only wrinkle their noses at me.

I shrug. And I take the seat Caesar offers me.

"So Ransom, Angelina wasn't impressed by the Capitol, are you?"

"Yup." I say, "but I wouldn't mind going to District 1 to see if her bed is as big as she claims—you know, for _investigative_ purposes only." I wiggle my eyebrows.

Cue a sincere laugh from Caesar. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Surely you have other things to do, how about winning the Hunger Games? Can you do it?"

I flex my muscles. "Of course, I'm a stud muffin."

"That does seem to be an advantage... tell me, do you have any other talents that might come in handy during the Games?" He puts his hands on his chin.

"I'm very flexible."

"Really?"

I nod, "Yup. Just ask the ladies."

"I'll keep it in mind," Caesar says, and something tells me that, if I make it to the final eight, he will certainly be asking Mila about it.

Soon, all of the females in Panem will be swooning over Ransom Sage—just wait and see.

* * *

><p>District 11: Lily Flores<p>

* * *

><p>The Hunger Games are just like chess.<p>

The arena is the board and the tributes are the pieces.

Most of us are pawns, inconsequential, but I can already see that some of us will be just a little bit more than that. The victor will be someone who is able to avoid the violence. Not entirely, of course, but the main objective in chess is to guard the king, meaning that the pawns, rooks, and knights will fall and ultimately someone will be placed in checkmate, the safest king emerging as the winner.

I wonder if the others know that we are only here to protect whoever wins the Games.

I follow a green woman with scales on her face into another room.

I'm told we aren't allowed to leave until every single tribute is finished their interview.

_Great._

I look around the room, my eyes landing on a small girl who has earned the pity of the whole Capitol. Wendy is wiping her nose with a tissue, as she spent three minutes blubbering about how she is going to die. The boy, Fallon, stands next to her. He was very mean during his interview, but his anger was directed mostly at the "losers" in District 6.

_Pawns,_ I decide.

The sevens aren't allies. In fact, I think Almandine is a Career, but that is a stupid move on her part. They will kill her in her sleep. Beech was very nice during his interview, which everyone found boring, but I think that it was a nice change of pace. Genuine niceness. I mean, I get being polite... but _nice? _Not in this situation.

The District 8 tributes—Drizzle and Skylark—talked mainly about each other... you know, for the _most_ part.

I think they might just be on opposing sides, whether they know it or not.

Fern was quiet, another pawn, but she talked about her writing during the interview and said nothing about her family... odd, but okay.

Rowena... she interrupted Caesar a lot, although she was a little bit more open about her personal life. She told all of Panem about how her father died—total sympathy card—and I think I saw Caesar shed a tear or two.

Bengal is the only one to hop off of his chair and run into the new room.

"Did you see me Bee?" he shouts, running over to his ally.

Bee chuckles lightheartedly. "Yes. You did great, Bengal!"

"Wendy?"

"You were awesome." she says, attempting to smile.

_Pawns, _I think again, turning my head to watch Brandon's interview on the big screen over my head. _We are all pawns._


	14. Danger Line

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the copyrighted material in this chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Bloodbath~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>You say the words and my weapon is drawn<br>This one could be my last time  
>Some people call it war crime<br>I may be staring at a lethal sight... to die_

_~Avenged Sevenfold, Danger Line~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 7: Almandine Bandica<p>

* * *

><p>I step into the tube.<p>

Close my eyes.

Smile.

I feel my body rising higher and higher into the air and a rainbow of colors flash in the darkness as beams hit my eyelids. Just brief, faded blues, not the strong orange colors that tell me the sun is out.

The tube lowers into the earth, leaving me exposed to the air.

I open my eyes.

The first thing I notice is the huge fucking gap in the middle of the ground. It separates me from the Cornucopia and I don't like it. The chasm poses the same issue for the other twenty three losers, but I don't care. I almost feel like we are standing on a cliff, though cliffs don't usually have four bridges connecting the broken pieces of land.

A lot of good that will do me with a bunch of scared morons running for the same thing.

And the bridges are _old_. I don't think they'll be able to handle that much weight on them at once. I guess I'll just have to get there first...

"Let the seventy-third Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice echos in the sky.

I jump. Fuck! I should have been paying more attention!

I immediately take off running for the bridge that is the farthest east of my plate. Less people... less chance of falling to my death. The platform is swaying in the breeze, but I think I'll be able to make it across in one piece. I can hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I resist the urge to look back and flip the morons off and move forward instead.

This running-and-not-tripping thing is harder than I first thought, the second my foot hits the wood the swaying gets ten times worse. I put my hands out—just in case I do lose my balance—and pick up the pace. The footsteps are turning into voices, which means they are catching up. Weaklings or not, I still don't want them anywhere near me.

I'm almost there when my foot catches on a break in the wood.

I curse, my hands smacking into the bridge painfully.

I prop myself up on my elbows to examine the damage. A layer of my skin has been scraped off, my palms look terrible—and they hurt like a bitch, it's hard to even put them back on the wood to pull myself up. And as I'm trying to stand up again, a hand closes around my ankle. Whoever this asshole is, they are so fucking annoying. They attempt to pull me backwards, but I dig my fingers into a space between the planks, kicking and thrashing as they hold on to me.

Fuck this.

I'm finally able to get this idiot away from me by yanking my leg to the immediate left. Usually, this wouldn't be enough, but the wind has picked up and the bridge is moving so much that the mystery moron loses their grip on me.

I turn my head to watch as two tanned hands claw at the wood, desperate to keep hold of the edge of the bridge.

I push myself up, wincing as a stinging sensation overwhelms my palms.

Time to finish the job.

I see that my would-be attacker is a boy with wide brown eyes, and matching-colored hair. I don't know his name, although I _do_ know that he's from District 10.

I walk over to him—more slowly this time, because he was the only one dumb enough to follow me—and smirk. Then, I bend down, my eyes meeting his. "Do you need a hand?"

"Yes!" he chokes out, scared shitless.

"Too bad."

And then my foot connects with his nose. I hear a cracking sound, followed by a scream, and a flash of red. The next thing I know, a cannon fires, and what's-his-face is as good as dead.

I gently rub my hands on my dress (a horrible excuse for an arena outfit,) and go to join the rest of the carnage.

* * *

><p>District 10: Rowena Wilder<p>

* * *

><p>I wish I had another choice.<p>

But other than staying on my plate, there is nowhere else to go—only straight onto the madness.

This year's arena was made to invoke violence right from the start. You have to rush past the Cornucopia to get to the safety of the woods, and then there's those rickety bridges... they can't be stable, can they?

I look up at the sky. It's overcast and when we see those sorts of clouds in District 10, it usually means that a huge storm is brewing—not that we have tons of rain back home anyway.

Bringing my eyes down, I see that mostly everyone has made it over to the Cornucopia, and only one or two tributes are left to struggle with staying upright as the wind blows them over. I walk over to one of the empty bridges, making my way across it with small steps and intense concentration. Once my feet touch the half-dead grass, I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

What comes next?

_Weapons, I need weapons._

Maybe if I can get a few small things, I can sprint into the woods unseen. It's really only a matter of finding something useful, a task that isn't all that hard. The least precious things, like a tarp or a single canteen, are in the grass. Weapons like swords and shelter-type items like tents are inside the mouth of the Cornucopia, and I will probably die if I go any closer to it... Angelina is greedily sifting through everything in it... so the ground it is.

I crouch down and search through the long blades of grass. I make sure to keep an eye on everything going on around me, though. A few seconds ago, the District 11 boy's head got cut off and it rolls over to me. I flinch and keep my eyes off of it—him—I mean _him._

Thankfully, I find a knife lying a couple of yards away from the disembodied head.

That's good. Knives are the only weapons I can really use. I never really got the chance to get the hang of anything else in training.

I pick it up.

_Now all you have to do is run. _I tell myself, _run far far away._

But I can't.

Not when Angelina Devon is standing in front of me with a creepy smile on her even creepier face.

"Well, well, well," she says sweetly. "What do we have here?"

I don't answer her, my fingers tighten around the knife instead.

She goes on as if I had actually answered her. "A scared little girl. _No,_ a scared little_ dead_ girl!"

Okay... aren't we the same age? I shake my head... maybe if she keeps the dumb comments up, I'll have time to get away.

"I'm thinking a slit throat will work. Scout?" she calls over her shoulder to a thin boy picking up supplies a few feet away from us. "What do you think?"

"Just hurry up!" is all he says.

"Throat it is!"

I'm not expecting her to tackle me the way she does, so I don't have time to stick my knife in her heart. My body hits the ground with a _thump!_ I gasp, trying to catch my breath. My head hits the ground, and my vision goes blurry for a second or two. And then I see something silver flash before my eyes. Her knife.

I close my eyes and wait for complete darkness.

But it never comes.

Angelina has made a quick change in plans, which she starts by dragging her fingernails down the side of my face. They feel more like a rake than nails and I bet the marks on my face will look very similar to one too. But I don't mind—her elaborate plan to kill me has given me the chance to find my knife again.

I take it by the handle, raise it in the air, and plunge it into her upper arm.

She screams. "You little _bitch!"_

"Shut up."

Before I get to say anything else—or push her off me, for that matter—someone calls her name.

Her head jerks up, she growls inhumanly, and decides to get up on her own; leaving me to wonder about what the hell just happened. And who do I owe my life to?

Never mind... I have to get out of here.

I stand up, moving in the direction of the woods. My head aches a little, and I'm dizzy, and the cuts on my cheek are bleeding. I'll have to find something to stop that later on, maybe a non-poisonous leaf or something.

The wooziness makes it kind of hard to move any faster than a slow walk, but I push past it, disappearing into the dark group of trees. And now that I see exactly what this place has to offer me, I don't thing I'll be finding any leaves anytime soon. Every last tree here is dead. And whatever type of plants lived on them are laying in heaps at their trunks.

_Lovely_. This is just _great!_

I don't know what to do now, where I should go. This "forest" looks exactly the same from all sides. And I only left the bloodbath with a knife. What good will it do me if I end up starving to death before a tribute comes along?

Frustrated, I keep moving forward.

Same or not, it's not safe to stay out in the open like this. Hopefully, I'll find something living around here if I keep on walking. Or better yet, a berry bush! Then I could have something for lunch or dinner—whatever meal corresponds with how long I've been in the arena.

It seems like it's been hours before I hear anything besides the crunching of dead things beneath my impractical shoes.

Voices.

A girl's and a guy's.

I hold my knife up, proceeding into the clearing carefully. Beech and Wendy sit on a small sheet they have laid out on the ground. Wendy is brushing cobwebs off of her pink dress and Beech is counting something small and white—bandages!

Still brandishing the knife, I make my presence known.

"Give me one of those!" I demand, going over to Beech and shoving my hand in his face.

Wendy whimpers, frightened.

I turn to her and my facial expression softens immediately. She doesn't deserve to be scared. "Please?"

The District 7 boy looks at me carefully, especially at the four red marks running down the right side of my face. He exchanges a glance with Wendy, who nods once, takes the bandages from his hand, and hands one to me.

And then she watches me as I place the knife on a pile of leaves and put the band-aid on my face. "Thanks."

I get another nod.

Something occurs to me, though I know it's stupid. I might just need them. You know, until I can gather enough stuff to go off on my own. I slowly pick up the knife and toss it onto the tarp. "One knife, and how many bandages?"

Beech takes them from Wendy, recounting each one. "Ten."

I look to Wendy, because if Beech answers me, I know it won't mean a thing.

"Can I stay here?"

And as I wait for her to say something—anything—I realize that my future hangs in the balance with this twelve-year-old girl.

* * *

><p>District 6: Fallon Zeider<p>

* * *

><p>I escaped the bloodbath with several throwing knives, a small backpack, and a heavy jacket made for cold weather. I didn't kill anyone, but I saw three people die. The boy from eleven, the kid from ten, and that guy from ten. And, if you ask me, there wasn't nearly enough blood.<p>

An owl hoots in the distance.

I jump, just to keep up with the "weak little boy" facade.

I think about how everyone back home will expect this of me, I think about how Addle will laugh at me, about how he never gave me my glasses back.

Anger builds up inside of me.

He _will _be sorry—they all will be.

I have only been walking for forty five minutes or so when I see her.

The girl from twelve, Clara.

I remember her interview quite well. She talked about how her older sister is eight months pregnant with her first child. Clara said that she was just _so excited_ to become an aunt, that she couldn't wait to see her nephew if she won the Games. But she_ can't _win them, because then I would be dead. I wouldn't get to gloat or beat Addle up or prove everyone wrong.

She has to die.

I'm very careful to weave in and out of the trees quietly. She can't here me... I have to take her by surprise.

Clara is examining a decaying tree branch as I approach her. She kicks it with the toe of her heeled shoe and bends down to pick it up. She is dressed in black, so I don't think her blood will show up for the cameras, which is a shame. The blood is the best part.

_Kill her,_ a voice in the back of my of head whispers.

But instead of stabbing her in the back right away, I push her down.

She shrieks, and I laugh.

This might be _too_ easy.

I take out my knife. Hold it up for her to see. Her eyes widen and I hear her whisper a single word, "Please," she is so close to tears; it's funny.

It's obvious that Clara is defenseless, she ran into the woods before she even thought of looking in the Cornucopia. The idiot.

I won't make this quick either.

Where's the fun in that?

I bring my knife down on her foot. Clara screams and clutches her ankle, tears running down her face. Her cries get worse when she realizes that she is holding onto a bloody stump and not her foot. I repeat the process with her other leg and now she's pleading with me, begging me to kill her.

I take pity on her and stab her in the heart.

A cannon fires and I smile.

_Who's the weak one now, Addle?_

* * *

><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Ditch the Careers, Mercy." Gabriel said, and he was practically <em>begging_ me to listen to him._

_I pretended to give his plea some serious consideration, but I killed the idea with a smug, "No."_

_Actually, I think my exact words were: "Hell no. What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" but it didn't really matter, the concept was still the same. Not allying with the Career tributes was stupid, and besides, Angelina would have bitched like nobody's business if I didn't show up for our strategy meeting in a few hours, right before the interviews started. She would have called me weak._

_And I wouldn't give her the satisfaction._

"_You're going to have to make a better argument than that, Gabe."_

"_What do you want me to do?" he asked, blue eyes wide. "I'll do it if you just _listen_ to me."_

_I smirk, "get down on your knees and beg me, I think that would make your point of view easier to see."_

_For a split second, I thought I saw a glimpse of the old Gabriel, the one who'd call me a bitch and make the implications of my request ten times worse, but he was gone in a flash. The new Gabriel returned and he was actually going to _do_ what I told him. A terrible feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, I couldn't handle the way he was looking at me or how I just wanted him to go back to normal, so I wouldn't have to worry about him at all hours of the day, so I knew he'd be alright without me there every night. But that... it... I hated... this. It. Needed. To. Stop. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to upset me like that._

_I put my hand up, stopping his grovelling before it began. "What are you _doing?_ You know what, don't answer that. I just want to know when you became such a little bitch."_

"_Mercy—"_

"_Save it," I tell him. "You make me sick."_

_And he still helped me with my interview, though he didn't come to my room that night. _

_Those were the last words I officially said to my best friend._

I blink. There's a stinging sensation in my eyes and I don't like it. At all. I push up the sleeve of my dress and rub my eyelids with the back of my hand.

And suddenly, I'm glad that Angelina left me in our camp with Cameron—who fell asleep and left me with the first watch—and took Fawn and Almandine with her to go hunting, I'm glad that Scout and Adrian left to find a water source. I'm happy they aren't here to see me almost-cry.

And then I'm disgusted with myself. I haven't cried since Gabe nearly died that one time in his Games, but he killed that girl before he bled out and I felt ten times better. And anyway, that was a year ago, and I think I only wasted one or two tears on it, which only James noticed.

God, I'm a fucking _wimp._

And I can't stay here anymore, I can't let myself be bossed around by serial killer Barbie and I certainly can't spend every night sleeping with one eye open, I shouldn't have to lower myself to such pathetic standards. Mercy Tenebrae isn't some paranoid crybaby, thank you very much.

And I know just where I want to go, too.

Sword in hand, I stand up. I think about slitting the lazy asshole's throat, but decide against it. I'd much rather let him deal with Angelina anyway. It's ten times more entertaining that way, even if I won't be here to see it. I take a few knives, two backpacks filled with water bottles, flashlights, and beef jerky, and leave Cam snoring peacefully without a care in the world.

I actually like being out on my own in the woods a little bit, it's sort of peaceful.

At least it is until the Capitol seal appears in the sky, annoying anthem echoing in my ears.

The first face that comes up is the District 9 male, Kale Anson; next is the District 10 male, Maximum Bane; and then the eleven kid, Bengal. The only girl to show up is Clara from twelve, and the anthem plays once more, followed by silence.

I eventually find him propped up against a willow tree, eyes trained on Clara's district partner, who is shivering in the cold. Brandon gave Drizzle his jacket, how _sweet._

It makes me want to vomit.

"Boo!" I whisper with a laugh.

Skylark jumps and curses loudly, though somehow both of his allies remain sleeping. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Don't worry about what I'm doing here," I say, dropping the supplies at his feet. "It's none of your business."

"I knew it," says Skylark. "You just couldn't stay away from me."

"Please, spare me your idiocy, you're not Ransom, so don't try to be."

He rolls his eyes. "I'll kill you before you kill me, if that's why you're here."

"Wrong again, genius." I hit him in the back of my head.

"So if you're not here to have sex with me or kill me," he pauses, and he's clearly not sold on my non-murderous intentions yet. "Then why _are_ you here?"

I drop my sword on the ground and hold my hand out. "You're my new ally."


	15. Just Like Sleeping

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games or the song lyrics.**

* * *

><p><em>Alright, I thought it would be cool to post a couple pictures that sort of inspired the arena. I also have a few for the tribute outfits, too. I kind of like the idea of Victorian horror being mixed into the storyline, so the outfits are more or less based off of that time period—I sort of feel mean for doing that to the characters, but oh well.<em>

_Here are the links (just replace the dots with actual periods and remove the spaces):_

wwwDOTcosplaybuyDOTcom /images/ cosplay-costume/ marie-antoinette-victorian-blue-dress-ball-gown-prom-1. jpg

cdnDOTbuzznetDOTcom /media/ jjr/ headlines /2011/ 11 /daniel-radcliffe-wib-still. jpg

staticDOTdesktopnexusDOTcom / thumbnails / 183472-bigthumbnail .jpg

_And I'll definitely put up a death list. Thanks for the suggestion!_

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part l~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Some feel I bare the mark of man<br>A misguided philosophy  
>Some feel I kill for fun<br>I kill for life! _

_~Slipknot, Some Feel~_

* * *

><p>District 5: Autumn Coville<p>

* * *

><p>I see everything.<p>

I see the District 2 girl steal away in the middle of the night, half of the Careers necessities in hand. I see the faces in the sky, and I don't know what to think about it. I'm not cruel enough to celebrate the deaths of those kids, but I not really sad over them either.

I shake my head, chewing on a piece of moss—one of the only edible things I've come across in this shit hole.

Moments later, two of the male Careers walk back into camp, angry expressions on their faces.

"That was a waste of two hours," The District 1 boy mutters, more to himself than the guy next to him.

District 2 sighs, "It's that Angelina girl, she's bringing us all down."

"You've got that right."

"She's bad mojo," Adrian continues, "she's going to ruin everything."

Scout doesn't respond. Instead, his eyes wander over the Career camp slowly, taking in every inch of the deadness around him. I stay statue-still, holding my breath. I have a pretty good hiding spot, but I can't risk being heard for anything.

"Where's Mercy?" he asks quietly, and Adrian shrugs his shoulders.

"How should I know? I was with you, dude."

District 1 nods, walking over to his ally's sleeping form, kicks him in the back.

The District 4 boy bolts upright, gasping and clutching his knife. "What? Wh-who's there?"

Scout smirks, eyes glinting with heavily suppressed anger. "Not Mercy," he says, and I can hear the rage in his voice.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Cameron finally starts to understand what Scout is saying, thank God. I was starting to think that the Career was too stupid to function—just like everybody who lives in the Capitol.

"She's not here?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

And it's gone.

Scout taps his foot on the barren ground, a twig crunches beneath his boot. _"No,_ and you were the only other one here, so enlighten us. Where the fuck is she?"

"Who do you think you're_ talking_ to, bud—"

"You," Scout says coldly. "She's gone—and so is half of our crap."

Cameron's eye twitches. He's a person with anger management issues, I can tell. This will turn into a fight soon, and I wonder who will come out alive. This makes me feel smug, I eat some more moss and lean backwards against a tangle of withered branches. As far as dead crap goes, this tree is pretty damn nice, if I do say so myself.

And believe me, I do.

"Guys..." Adrian begins, but no one is listening to him. "I don't think we should be fighting..."

But it's too late.

The two idiots are already at each others throats. Unfortunately for District 4, Scout has the advantage. Cameron is still lying down, and he doesn't even do the smart thing, which I—having as little combat skills as I do—know. Instead of hitting the blue-eyed boy in the knees—or in the balls—an even smarter move if the opponent is Ransom, he lunges upward, trying to slash Scout's throat with his knife. The District 1 boy moves quickly, and a line of red appears on Cameron's neck in a matter of seconds.

His cannon fires.

"Scout!" Adrian whines, "did you have to do that?" he looks around nervously, like a bolt of lightening could strike him at any second.

"Yes. Did you see the way he looked at me? He was lying through his teeth, he let her get away."

He seems unconvinced. "Are you sure...?"

I want to listen to the rest of their conversation, but something stops me. I feel like I'm being watched by someone—or maybe even something.

I turn slowly to my left, and I'm startled by a huge pair of yellow eyes staring back at me. I have enough time to wonder if this is what others feel like when I look at them—bone-chillingly scared—before "The Thing" rushes at me and I tumble out of the tree.

* * *

><p>District 3: Clint Manti<p>

* * *

><p>Why isn't this working?<p>

I've tried every deep breathing exercise in the book and I _still_ can't calm down long enough to come up with a plan. I haven't even decided on which direction I want to go in or which way is which or if north, south, east, and west really matter now.

And, to make matters worse, I'm starting to envy _them_—Emily especially, for her ability to live so freely, without worry. Whereas I can't even breathe normally without hiccuping. Come to think of it, I can't stop looking all around me either. Every sound, every little movement catches my attention and I can't help but think that there's something out to get me.

_Go to your happy place, Clint. It will be okay._

I close my eyes and imagine my father reciting my list of responsibilities. I've always gotten over the bad things by feeling needed, like I absolutely had to do something for someone. And then the meditation helps with the overwhelmed feelings I sometimes get while babysitting my sister.

I start to walk then. Small steps going forward, sometimes I turn left—or maybe it's right—and I try to stop thinking of this place as an endless maze without any hope of an exit. I_ will _get out of this God arena—I _have_ to. For Lilly's sake, if my self-motivation fails. She'll end up pregnant and alone if I don't come back to her before she realizes what a jerk-face Trelix is.

As I'm thinking about this, I barely notice that my feet are moving—walking is automatic, almost a reflex, even though my heels are aching.

_Smack!_

I run face-first into a gnarled tree the size of one of the skyscrapers in the Capitol.

I put my hand to my nose and it comes back colored ruby-red. I think I might have broken a bone or something, because I swear I heard a cracking noise. Not that I can figure out much of anything with the pain in my head. I feel so dizzy... I place the bloody hand on the side of my head, trying to regain my equilibrium. My eyes wheel around in their sockets and I think I see a flash of white, but I can't really tell, what with double vision and all.

There it is again!

I blink, swivel to my left, and fall down in surprise when I see Ransom dart out from in between two trees. He's following that white thing like a crazy person. Well, both of the Ransoms are. I squeeze my eyes shut, standing up on shaky legs.

Maybe if I follow them I can figure out what the heck is going on...

I stumble and trip my way through the dead forest, keeping my eyes trained on the District 5 boy and the weird apparition, which resembles a very good-looking girl—no wonder he's chasing after her. In the three days I've known him, I have figured out that he is the biggest one of _them_ there is.

Finally, the ghost girl stops in front of a run-down house. The shutters are falling off and the porch is just a rotten plank of wood with stairs jutting off of it. The paint is peeling, and I think it must have been a pretty orange color at some point. The girl manages to run up the steps without getting hurt, turns around, beckons to the now one-Ransom, and rushes inside.

He doesn't hesitate to go after her, the dummy.

I should just turn around, walk away now, but I know I can't. There's something urging me to enter the house, too, but I don't know what. I simply know that I'm going to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach and go inside.

I _have_ to.

I flinch when the stairs creak under the pressure of my weight, an action that gives me a spasm of pain on my nose. The faded red door makes the same noise when I open it, but I don't react—changing facial expressions hurt too much.

It becomes clear that there isn't a single source of electricity in this house. The only light comes through the crack in the open door, which I don't plan on shutting. I leave my post by the entryway and go looking for Ransom in the adjacent room. It's some sort of living room, I think. A big couch is pushed up against the wall, and a wooden table sits in front of it. Both pieces of furniture are covered in spider webs. Actually, the entire room is like a breeding ground for spiders, cobwebs hang from peeling sections of green wallpaper and in the corners of the ceiling.

"Ransom," I whisper, "where are you guys?"

I'm surprised by how immediate his response is. "Over here, by the clock."

Sure enough, there he is. Messy hair and generally perverted nature and all, standing by a huge grandfather clock.

"Who was that girl?" I ask, standing next to him.

He scratches his head. "I don't know yet, but believe me, I will soon."

"Ransom..." I start. I want to tell him that he is a total idiot, that I'm leaving and he won't even get the chance to be alone with this girl because she'll kill him in a millisecond.

But I can't.

The front door slams shut and we both jump ten feet in the air. And, of course I could be mistaken, but I think I hear it lock.

Man. Now I can't see. The room is pitch-black and I don't even remember how far away from the door I am. Is there another exit anywhere? Some other room with a lamp?

My thoughts are interrupted by the creepiest thing yet.

A woman-like voice. "Hello boys,"

And then I hit the floor with a loud _thump._

* * *

><p>District 4: Fawn Nolan<p>

* * *

><p>The District 9 girl hadn't been that hard to find.<p>

_She was walking over a bunch of logs when Angelina jumped in front of her, trademark grin on her pale face._

_Almandine and I followed suit, but only after the newest Career got confirmation from her. I rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking and considered sending a bullet from the gun Angelina gave me into her back, but I knew I'd miss and end up hurting myself in the process. I finally decided to follow her when I saw her back disappearing behind some of the trees._

_I noticed the weakness Angelina left open the second I saw the scene._

_If Fern was armed, she could easily take Angelina down if she hit Angelina in the left side, which was the hand that wasn't holding a weapon, with a throwing knife or something._

_I rolled my eyes and went over to them, ready to cover their slack._

"_Flower," the District 1 girl greeted, smiling like a maniac. "Nice to see you again."_

_Silence followed. The girl shook her head, gray eyes narrowed._

_Angelina turned to Almandine. "Isn't it, Mandy?"_

"_Yup." Almandine said, though she probably hated her nickname. "It is. Let's catch up."_

_And then three things happened almost at the exact same time._

_First, Angelina nodded to Almandine. Second, Almandine took her sword from its sheath. And third, Angelina grabbed her by the arm, eyes flickering silently._

"_Let her go," she told Almandine. "For now, at least." _

"_What! Why?"_

"_I changed my mind. And anyway, she has like, _nothing_ I want," Angelina planted her hands on her hips and sighed._

"_But you said that—"_

"_I _know_ what I said, find someone else to kill."_

_The six girl grumbled under her breath. "Fine."_

_And then she raised her sword to me._

_I knew what was going to happen next, but I moved away a little too late. Her weapon dug into my side like a thorn, though thorns most likely hurt less than that. And I dropped to the ground, screaming and crying like a banshee._

Which brings me to this point.

The pain is terrible.

I can't even breath without screaming, and my eyes are far too numb to shed tears anymore, I can't even remember how long I've been here, though the girl hasn't left me since those traitors ran away. She watches me carefully, not saying anything. She does look through that little brown bag of hers, though. Fern—not Flower, like Angelina called her—pulls two band-aids from a small compartment, giving me one of her sad frowns.

"These won't help you," she says.

I manage a quiet "No."

She hands them to me anyway. "Sorry, it's all I have."

"Keep them, then." I push her hand away and wince. "I'm going to die anyway, so you might as well have them." I'm going to end up like my sister and brother... dead and gone, and it's kind of scary.

"Right." she is starting to look a little uncomfortable.

"Do you think it's like a dream?" I ask her, my voice strained.

Her face falls completely. She looks away from me, but I think I hear her say, _sure_.

_Good_, I think and I close my eyes one last time.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry this chapter is shorter, but I have a lot of stuff planned for the next chapter, so everything will start to come together. Anyway... here's the death list as of now, including the bloodbath.<em>

_**The Dead:**_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_I hated having to kill these tributes off, but it was their time to go. Oh, and I'm giving each alliance a horror movie for them to be a part of, so basically, the Gamemaker traps and Mutts will deal with whatever movie they have._

_Can anyone guess Clint and Ransom's?_


	16. Mortem Vis

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games doesn't belong to me blah blah blah—the lyrics are not mine either.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part ll~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>This won't mean a thing come tomorrow<br>and that's exactly how I'll make it seem  
>Cause I'm still not sleeping,<br>thinking I've crawled home from worse than this_

_~Taking Back Sunday, Great Romances of the 20th Century~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 5: Ransom Sage<p>

* * *

><p>Well, this is certainly unexpected.<p>

When I open my eyes, I still can't see a thing. And I can't move either, I try to lift my hands up, but they're stopped by something cold and heavy. My legs seem to be shackled to the same type of thing, and I don't like it. When I followed this chick I didn't think this would turn into some fucking S&M orgy. I hate that kind of crap—it's so messed up.

"Hey, Clint!" I stage whisper into the darkness. "Are you there, man?"

"I'm here," he answers, though he sounds very far away.

"Good. We have to get out of here." I'm counting on the fact that maybe Clint isn't chained to some shitty chair like I am.

I hear him sigh. "I can't move, can you?"

So much for that idea.

"Nope."

This is starting to bother me. I don't have much of anything to help me. I think of the first-aid kit I snagged from the Cornucopia, and how I dropped it when I caught sight of that girl... man, was she hot. She's ten-worthy. And I just kept walking and walking and then I ended up here. I'm having trouble remembering what happened in between then and now, but it can't be good.

"I think I'm in a chair or something... but I can't see either."

I yank at the restraints, hoping they'll break, because every second I'm here I get more and more afraid and I don't want to pee myself—especially if that girl is around. I don't want to look pathetic or anything.

"Ditto." I say and my voice breaks.

"Do you two need any help with that?" Someone asks us, and it's not the hot girl.

"No, I think we're good. Right Clint?"

"Right!" the District 3 boy pipes up.

I can almost hear this guy's muscles twitch as he smiles. "It'll be my pleasure."

Another person circles around me like a shark. Their shoes clomp loudly against the floor and as they get closer to me, I'm able to smell blood on their skin.

The blindfold falls to the floor.

I gasp.

We are in some dungeon that smells of rotting flesh and mildew. I turn my head to see Clint sitting in some kind of elaborate torture device not a foot away from me. The contraption has metal teeth hanging over the edge and I assume that, if they were to be released, they would cut Clint's head right off of his shoulders.

Ouch.

"Hello again, boys." a familiar voice says. I recognize the girl immediately, she has the same pale skin and white dress... and that same hypnotizing tone... but she is fucking ugly now. Even creepy Autumn surpasses her on my scale.

I'm missing Mila more and more by the second. Hell, I even miss Eulalie—and she almost broke my face.

"Have you met my friend yet?" asks the girl.

I shake my head. "No... but that's okay... we'll catch up later. Seeing as we should really be going somewhere else." I think I'm crying now, but I can't really tell.

"No," she says seductively. "Stay. _Please_." she smiles, revealing two sets of pointy teeth and a snake-like tongue.

"Just let us go." I squeak, sounding like a mouse.

"No." The man sounds so authoritative when he says it, that I don't protest.

He's dressed in a long gray coat that has so many pockets that I can't count them all. I bet he smuggles drugs in them, or maybe he just sells condoms to teenage boys so they don't have to have awkward conversations with their parents... yeah, that's a great alternative.

Actually, once I really think about it, that still sounds pretty damn creepy.

Creepy-dude reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out a long serrated blade. I shrink back into my seat. _Please don't kill me with that... please please please!_

I close my eyes, thinking that maybe it will hurt less if I don't see it.

"Now, boy of District 5, I'll give you two choices..."

_Choices, good... wait, why isn't he killing me yet?_

"You can either watch me hurt your ally and leave this house pain-free," Wow, he has the grin of a freaking pedophile. _"Or_ you can hurt yourself and both of you can leave—the District 3 boy will be unharmed."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out my answer. "Option one! I want the first one!"

The snake-girl's hand curls around my wrist and suddenly, my hands are free. Next comes my ankles. I'm ready to run out of this hellhole the second I can stand up, but she grabs me by the shoulders, holding me firmly in place. She even tilts my head back at a strange angle. It's almost like I can see everything more clearly this way...

Shit.

Clint eyes the knife with such a look of fear that the nicer part of me almost takes everything all back, but I don't think anything I say will make any difference.

I already sold the kid's soul to the Devil.

I fight to close my eyes—the girl's fingernails are forcing them to stay open—to no avail. I see everything I bargained for and more—I'm screaming like a baby when it's all over.

She releases me with a laugh...

And I run, because there's nothing else I _can_ do. I run and run and trip up the steps and yank the front door open and hope for a cannon to fire.

But it never does.

* * *

><p>District 1: Scout Penumbra<p>

* * *

><p>The girl falls out of the tree the same moment Angelina waltzes back into camp.<p>

I kick Cameron's body aside while she inspects the area, the hovercraft will come and take his corpse away when we clear out, but not a second before then. I hear Adrian make yet another sound of protest, so I turn around a give him a look that says: _Shut up before I shut you up,_ which he obeys almost immediately.

"Who do we have here?" she asks, her voice ten times sweeter than it normally is.

It doesn't take long for me to come up with a name and a district for the girl with the crazy red hair. "Autumn Coville. District 5."

"Isn't she adorable?" Angelina coos, sounding like an idiot.

"No."

She's competition and as far as I'm concerned, smarter than ten Angelinas trying to change a light bulb. She exudes an aura that makes Adrian want to pee himself, and I think this Autumn girl should be killed on the spot.

Too bad Blondie insists on treating her like a Goddamned pet.

And then she gives us this gem of an insult, "I wish I could say the same about you, but it looks like your plastic surgeon fucked up your face for laughs."

"Why would you say that?" my district partner asks, a hurt look crossing her face. "I'm like, _the_ prettiest girl on the face of this Earth. In all of Panem..."

I try to stifle my laugh—even Adrian smiles despite himself.

"... right Scout?"

"No comment," I tell her. "Can you just get on with the killing, or do I have to do it?"

She studies Autumn for the longest time, before looking at me with that bitchy expression of hers—the one that makes her look like a constipated yuppy. "I don't think we should kill her, Scout."

I raise my eyebrows. _"You_—the girl who nearly killed her best friend at the reapings—don't think we should get rid of a liability?"

"I'm not a liability!" the child-like girl shouts, offended.

I think she tacks a "fuck you" to the end of her statement, but I ignore it. I'm too busy being amused by Angelina coming up with a list absurdities as to why we should keep her, like a pet, to care about anything Autumn says.

Almandine stomps over to us a few seconds later. She's cleaning off her sword with a scrap of fabric from her dress. "What's going on?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "Nothing important. Where's Fawn?"

"Mandy," Angelina shrieks, "don't you think Autumn would be a great addition to our alliance... since Fawn had that... accident of hers?"

Bullshit. Am I supposed to believe that Fawn walked into Almandine's sword? No, from what I've seen of her, she is far too smart to be fooled by either of those girls. More like they attacked her, the both of them, which gave her a disadvantage. My eyes fall on Cameron again—he had been met with a disadvantage as well. Sure, he was trained and stronger than me, but he acted too quickly and I had the upper-hand, so down he went.

"I guess." The District 7 girl shrugs, not caring one way or the other.

_Be smart about this,_ I tell myself. _Don't assert yourself just yet. Remember the plan. You won't get home to Kaleb by jumping ahead of schedule._

I take a deep breath, staying calm is key, and reminding myself of Kaleb is just what I needed to do. I may hate my district, but I love my brother and I can't leave him alone with those superficial asses. His brain will rot out of his ears. Maybe, if Adrian's luck proves to be real, Angelina's brain will rot instead—you know, if she_ even has_ one.

"Where's Cameron?" Angelina asks, stamping her foot. "He'll agree with me!"

"About that..." Adrian stammers, looking to the left and then the right.

"He was dead when we came back." I interject quickly. No need for him to ruin what will be a perfectly good set up. I can already smell the nostalgia... "and Mercy was gone. I think we're missing a few backpacks as well." I back away from his dead body, waving my hand the way Caesar Flickerman might to display a tribute's fancy costume.

The District 1 girl's face goes from –the exact shade of red that stains her bandage—to purple in ten seconds flat.

"_What?"_

I sigh loudly. "Surely you understand what this means, right?"

"Fall," Angelina addresses the angry girl as kindly as she can manage. "Go find that bitch, and make sure she's alive when you bring her back. I have special plans for her."

And so the manipulation begins...

* * *

><p>District 8: Skylark Plont<p>

* * *

><p>I honestly don't know what made me agree to this.<p>

Mercy Tenebrae is annoying, bossy, smug, unfeeling, mean... and yet, when she held her hand out, I took it. Sure, it took me awhile, but we made an alliance nonetheless. And I think I'm okay with it—or at least I _had_ been before Drizzle woke up.

"What the hell is _she_ doing here?" My sister demands, eyes turned on me, as if it's my fault the District 2 girl showed up in the middle of the night.

"I asked myself the same question last night," I admit, letting my hair fall over my eyes. "But I think it's a good idea to keep her here."

My sister looks at me incredulously. "And why is that?"

I think back to the list of reasons I came up with a few hours ago. "She knows what she's doing. Mercy's trained—her best friend's a victor, she knows what we have to do to win—she can make sure you're safe." The last part is kind of difficult to say, especially because I know it will start a fight, but I think Drizzle needs to be reminded that I still care.

"I'm not your personal bodyguard, dumb fuck. And don't bring _him_ into this, my greatness has nothing to do with him."

Brandon flinches at Mercy's harsh words. "Do_ I_ get a say in this?"

"No." I say automatically. I don't like this kid... I don't like that he has an obvious crush on my sister. He's a moron—and he shouldn't be anywhere near Drizzle.

"Wait." Drizzle holds her hand up. _"She_ gets to talk, but Brandon can't say anything?_ And_ she called you dumb fuck and you're okay with it. What kind of crap is that?"

"I've called him a lot of things before." says Mercy. She's using such a smug tone that her voice alone would be enough to piss my sister off. I wonder what she could possibly mean by that, because her remark makes little sense at all.

"And what makes you think that she won't kill all of us? She's a _Career."_

Good point. Thankfully, before I get the chance to open my mouth, Mercy jumps in. _"Please._ If I wanted to kill you, I would have already." she shoots a glance at me that can only be described as flirtatious, and goes on, her voice getting more and more condescending with each word. "And, _trust_ me I would never want to hurt Skylark... too badly."

I know where this is going the second that sentence leaves her mouth and I don't like it. I sort of feel used, a feeling that hurts more than I should let it.

Drizzle glares at me, her arm coiling around Brandon's shoulder. "Is that—"

She's cut off by the sound of a tree branch snapping.

"What was that?" Brandon asks, eyes going wide.

I look around our camp. It's pretty small, so whatever it was, it's still pretty far away from us. The trees surrounding our alliance are still in tact—or as in tact as they can be when they're dead.

"Another tribute or a Mutt or a tribute-eating Gamemaker." Mercy says, bored. "Either way, we still have to move... unless any of you have a death-wish."

"I don't trust you."

"Fine." she says, grabbing her sword and stomping off into the woods. "I'll go first!"

I watch as her back disappears in the darkness, sword clanking as she swings it against tree after tree after tree. Part of me doesn't want to follow her, not after those comments of hers, but I know I'd be dumb not to. I'm still not sold on going after Mercy until I see Brandon scoot even closer to Drizzle, who had dropped her arm the second she realized I wasn't paying much attention to her. I don't want to have to watch my sister flirt with this idiot. And _that's _what makes me take my knives and a mauve-colored backpack into the woods, cringing as my eyes adjust to the total darkness. _Not_ anything else.

I don't look behind me to see if Drizzle decided to come after me. It's pretty much a give-in that she did, seeing as we haven't gone anywhere without each other since we were three.

I grab tree branches in an attempt to not fall, but it kind of freaks me out to think about how I can't see what I'm holding onto. That's the creepiest part of being in the dark—not knowing what's coming next.

Eventually, after I cut my palms on who-knows-what several times, I see a small pool of light shining ahead of me. I start running for it immediately, not realizing how much being in the dark bothered me until I had the sun within my reach.

I almost trip over Mercy when I break into the clearing. She's sitting in the grass, barefoot, examining her shoes with a pissed off expression on her face.

"Watch it!" she mutters, taking the heel in her hand and snapping it off.

"No." I tell her, smirking a little bit as I wait for one of Drizzle's sarcastic comments.

It never comes.

I turn around, expecting to find my pink-haired sister standing behind me, but nobody's there.

I hear Mercy chuckle. "You ditched Drizzle. I bet you're not getting a birthday present this year."

"No," I say indignantly. "She's coming." _I hope._

"Sure. You know, she might have stayed behind to make-out with Brandon. It's pretty awkward, the whole shoving-my-tongue-down-someone's-throat-while-my-brother's-watching thing."

"Shut up." I don't want to let on to the fact that the thought of Drizzle having a boyfriend makes me want to break something. Preferably, said boyfriend's jaw.

"Whatever." she says, holding her hands up in surrender. "It was just a thought."

"Yeah? Well, stop thinking. We'll both be better off without it."

"Shut up and let me see your hand." She takes my wrist before I can say anything in protest.

Mercy looks at my palm with annoying scrutiny. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"

"Nothing." I shrug. "I couldn't see."

She wipes the blood away with the sleeve of her dress. "I don't think that one has any first-aid stuff in it, so this is the best I can do."

I nod. "Thanks."

"No problem," she says.

Like it doesn't mean a thing.

* * *

><p>District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo<p>

* * *

><p>It's getting dark.<p>

I don't have a single weapon.

I wonder how long I've been wandering around out here, cold, sad, and alone. It's pissing me off, really. Why does every tree here look the same? Why wasn't I able to get anything from the Cornucopia? Why did I run away?

It's not as if I knew that Bengal-kid anyway. I mean, I didn't even say two words to the kid.

But it made me mad—the amount of twelve-year olds in the arena is way too big. I remember how upset I got when Maui suggested that the little girl would be reaped, I don't like to see kids get bullied or hurt. And when that Career stood over him, dropped that blade on his neck, I couldn't take it. But rather than fight her, I ran.

And I can't stop.

That sight was way too gruesome and I can't get it out of my head.

Finally, out of breath, I lie on the ground and wait for the faces to show up in the sky.

The reflections of the two dead tributes stay in my head as my eyes close and I drift off to sleep.

* * *

><p>District 4 Mentor: Zane Dalis<p>

* * *

><p>I'm seriously reconsidering my opinion of these Games.<p>

Fawn. Is. Dead.

I honestly didn't believe that it could happen. She was strong. She knew how to fight. How could she be gone? My mind takes me back to the times when she would look to me for advice. How I would show her the proper way to hold a sword, how to use even the most complicated of hooks, which bodies of water were abundant in fish.

Her parents must be devastated—they only have one more child left, and he would probably begin to train within the next two weeks, after this year's victor gets crowned.

I sit down in the empty seat next to Haymitch. "Both of mine are out."

"Really? That was fast." Chaff says, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Haymitch laughs. "Two in one day, that must be a record!" His words are just starting to slur, so he can't be _that_ drunk yet.

"Tell me about it." I steal the bottle from Chaff, understanding why the two of them drink so much for the very first time.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan._

_If anyone is still curious, Ransom and Clint's scenario was "The Hostel" but I think it morphed into "Saw" near the end a little bit, but the premises aren't that different, so I'm okay with that. Anyway, thanks for reading and don't forget to review because I love reading them. _


	17. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics or The Hunger Games.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part: lll~<strong>

_Don't say I'm out of touch  
>With this rampant chaos - your reality<br>I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge  
>The nightmare I built my own world to escape<em>

_~Evanescence, Imaginary~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo<p>

* * *

><p>I open my eyes—and become immediately pissed off.<p>

_Where am I?_

I think back to reaping day, when I had that nightmare about the cliff and some unseen monster. But... but I don't remember having _any_ dream just now. I know I closed my eyes, but I don't think I got any REM sleep or if I did, it must have gotten interrupted. So... no dream, I guess.

Sadly, that doesn't explain why I'm here, wherever "here" is.

It's a house, I suppose. But I seem to have found a long hallway. Door after door lines the wall to my left, pictures fill the empty spaces in between them. Windows are on the opposite wall, dusty and broken.

Sleepwalking, I must have done that, though it's not something I've experienced before.

And that makes me even angrier.

What the hell is wrong with me?

God, I feel more stupid than Maui after he chose that little girl at the reaping and I got picked instead. Grumbling to myself, I stand up, not knowing what else to do. Where can I go? My only choices are to the left or to the right. How the hell am I going to get out of here? It's too dark to see too far ahead of me, so I don't know which way is safer.

I aim a kick at one of the doors and almost fall over when my foot crashes through it.

"Shit!" The impact hurts more than I expect it to, it almost feels like I hit a brick wall. The hole my foot made is the size of my ankle exactly. I try to stay quiet as I free my leg, but a few curse words slip out of my mouth anyway.

_What was that?_

I freeze. Someone is here with me.

This is not good. I wonder if it's another tribute, hope it's one of the stupid ones. An older kid. Because then I could kill them without feeling guilty.

_Suka. _A second voice says, and I grit my teeth at the sound of it_._

What the hell is Maui doing here?

I know that something isn't right. This doesn't make any sense. And I feel like punching something when I realize that I'm not going to be able to figure it out. It's like there's a roadblock in my head and I don't think I'll be able to get past it.

_Suka..._ Maui says again.

And then he taps me on the shoulder.

I get up, turn around—ignoring the stab of pain in my leg—and pull my fist back. He deserves to get smacked in the face. I don't have time to deal with this crap, I have a game to play.

"Get away—" I stop short, fist falling to my side.

Since when did that asshole have red eyes?

* * *

><p>District 11: Lily Flores<p>

* * *

><p>Six down. Eighteen to go.<p>

My thoughts keep going back to Bengal... his picture in the sky... and then—because it's inevitable—I think of Andre, who must be near tears right about now. He can never make it through the bloodbath without crying. If I didn't care about him so much his waterworks would probably bother me more, but I'm actually _missing_ them now.

I keep trying to remind myself that each death is crucial, necessary. But it's somehow getting to me anyway. What happens if I end up dead, my face on some huge screen hovering over the arena? I'll just be like every other tribute that ended up there before me.

A casualty. A minor form of entertainment before the real fighting starts.

And I can't let that happen.

That's where these guys come in.

I've been watching them for a few hours now, and each one of them is pathetic in his or her own way. The older girl, Rowena, clearly has a soft spot for Wendy. The guy, Beech, is too nice—especially when it comes to that little girl. She won't be able to last long, even with the help of the two older tributes.

So, you see, it's kind of perfect.

I'll I have to do is be polite, maybe ignore the guilt that I'm already feeling, and not draw comparisons between Wendy and my brother.

That's all.

* * *

><p>District 6: Fallon Zeider<p>

* * *

><p>I feel so <em>happy.<em>

Killing is the most invigorating act a person can commit. It's so... _freeing,_ feeling the snap of someone's bones beneath your hand. When Clara died, I had the control. Not Dad or Maria or Addle. _Me._ Little Fallon, who wouldn't even dare to hurt a fly.

Well, I had done away with that idea, hadn't I?

I haven't seen anyone else, though. Which makes me mad. Really mad. My skin is practically_ itching_ with anxiousness. I never realized that killing would become a vital part of my life, but the Games have changed that. I can't let myself be that scared little kid anymore. When I get back, Maria won't have to fight my battles for me anymore. Nobody—not even Addle, the human giant—will cross my path.

It's so satisfying.

But we aren't even close to being done yet.

So many more have to die... I suppose that, instead of sitting here, I should actually move on. Just waiting around for someone to show up won't spill any blood.

I have to be proactive about this.

I get up from my spot on the ground, throw my coat over my shoulder, and sling the backpack over my shoulder. I decide to head down a thin path, thinking that maybe somebody stupid would have the same idea as me. Hopefully, said person will be sensitive, someone willing to beg for their life. I don't make an effort to be frightened anymore. I figure the weakling angle is shot to hell, seeing as I removed both feet from another tribute's body.

It's kind of nice, this new side of myself.

The anxiousness begins to get worse though, and that ruins my good mood pretty quickly.

Where _is_ everybody?

This arena is way too big! I thought that the Capitol relished seeing kids tear each other limb from limb. Why isn't it easier to find everyone? I gnash my teeth in frustration. I can't stand this! My fingernails dig into the palm of my hand, and I know the exact moment they break through the skin. Too bad this isn't Addle's blood...

_That's it! Pretending to hurt that loser will make you feel better!_

I smile at this new thought. Why hadn't I come up with this sooner?

In the next ten minutes, I come up with several ways to injure him with only this one knife and I'm starting to feel a little bit better.

I'm so caught up in my daydreams that I hardly see what's in front of me.

At least I don't until I trip over something.

I scramble to my feet, muttering curses to myself. I think I've fallen over a log, but then I actually look at my surroundings.

It's a person!

A feeling of happiness settles over me. I can't wait to see the look on her face. The District 3 girl will be so scared when I wake her up!

I don't bother to think about how she should be awake already... that when you run into someone it's next to impossible to stay asleep... all I care is her death.

I'm thinking about how long to draw this whole ordeal out when a stream of blood pours down her cheek.

Funny... I don't think I hit her with my knife...

And then she starts to convulse.

* * *

><p>District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo<p>

* * *

><p>The impact of Maui's fist hurts more than it usually does.<p>

I reel backwards, shocked.

"You little bastard!" I screech, glaring at my so-called best friend. Sure, I had been prepared to hit him... but I hadn't done it. What's wrong with him?

He raises his hand again. "Shut up!"

That's it! I'm not messing around anymore. I push him and he falls back, crashing into a window on the opposite side of the wall. Glass falls to the ground, each shard turning into piles of dust. Maui stands up and brushes the glass-dust off of his pants. Behind him, I see my family, all in obvious pain from some sort of wound that's on their stomachs. I think I hear my father crying, but I can't be sure. The sound is too... distorted.

This is too much.

Something inside me snaps, I take off running down the hallway, dodging Maui as he tries to grab me by the arm.

_Suka..._

I can't drown the voice out. It morphs into something that is more sinister than it was before.

_Suka..._

I must have crashed into another one of those widows or something because my entire body starts to ache.

The pain is overwhelming. I drop to the floor and cover my head with my hands, hoping that this will all go away before I start crying on live television.

_Boo._

I look up.

The person that appears in front of me isn't really a person. He's a monster.

_Not my Maui, _I think to myself. _Maui doesn't usually smell like rotting flesh, he also doesn't smile like a lunatic._

_Suka..._

I don't even have time to think about how he got here so fast before a flash of red consumes my vision.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_

* * *

><p><em>Sorry this chapter is so short and that it took forever to write. School has been insane lately. I'll have more time to update, though, thanks to spring break.<em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	18. Go Ask Alice

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not (and will probably never) own The Hunger Games or the White Rabbit lyrics.**

* * *

><p><em>Hey everyone! This chapter was born out of my blatant refusal to study for my two Spanish tests I have before spring break, so that's probably why my writing is more angsty than usual. Verbal exams and foreign languages should never be put together. Anyway, in addition to that, I just tried to re-read Go Ask Alice (hence the chapter title) and got scared out of my mind—yet again. For some reason, I just can't get through it without feeling terrible, so... I decided to try writing from an extremely dark and emotional standpoint. Which is good, because I don't have any extremely action-packed chapters planned out. No deaths for awhile. But I'd really liked some feedback as to how I did with that. And again, thank you thank you thank you to everybody who is still reading, I love seeing every review and I love the constructive criticism.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part lV~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>When men on the chessboard<br>Get up and tell you where to go  
>And you've just had some kind of mushroom<br>And your mind is moving slow  
>Go ask Alice<br>I think she'll know_

_~Jefferson Airplane, White Rabbit~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 9: Fern Gresham<p>

* * *

><p>Their faces haunt my dreams.<p>

I can hardly stand it.

Before this whole thing unraveled, before I was shipped off to the Capitol and turned into someone expendable, it was difficult enough. But now... I think I'm going crazy. It isn't just the distant memory of my mother that bugs me, but the last moments of Fawn's life, too.

At home, it was easy to justify. My dad has it a lot worse after all. Always drinking... always hurting. I never acted out the way Mick did. Never yelled or stole or pilfered medicine from the small apothecary across the street from our house. I'm quiet. Good, even despite my family's low opinion of me. I have nothing left to look forward to, but I'm not nearly as screwed up as they are.

I hope.

It's times like this when I wish I hadn't brought this stupid necklace with me... I want—no, _desperately need_—my journal. I need to lift all of this weight off of my shoulders. What's a piece of jewelry going to do for me? _Nothing!_ The petal inside of the glass bottle is dying anyway... it'll be shriveled up and colorless in a few days.

_Useless._

I've never been an angry person. Sad, yes. Near tears, of course. But never mad. Not when my mom spent so much of her time being so damn cheerful, not when she told me to never let my negative emotions turn into rage.

_Life's too short, honey. Don't spend your time dwelling on the bad things. Be happy!_

And she was right... life _is_ short.

Somehow, looking at my flower petal cements this fact in my head. I'm going to die die die die, just like everyone else. And I'm going to leave nothing behind.

My hand shakes as I yank the bottle from my neck. I don't even glance at it as I send it spiraling towards a gnarled tree that is barely standing upright. I flinch when the glass shatters, petal disappearing amongst the other leaves gathered at it's roots.

It's like I'm being split in half.

Part of me wants to remain where I am—at the far end of the only path I've been able to find—but the other half is silently begging to get my charm back.

I never realized that regret was such an instantaneous thing.

Unable to deal with the swell of emotions gathering in my chest, I drop to the ground, crawl over to the tree, and start digging through the dead plants and insects.

My fingernails start to bleed after they get torn apart by the roots, but I ignore the stinging for the most part. For all I know, that could be the reason I'm sobbing, but I don't think it really matters.

Does anything really matter?

_No._

Not when I can't find my token—or what's left of it.

If I can't find it... if I never see it again... what would mom say?

I can almost hear her voice and it's not hard to imagine how she would shake her head. A lump forms in my throat at the mere thought of it. Oh God... disappointing her memory was the one thing I vowed I would never do. And here I am... in the Games my cousin never wanted me to participate in... tarnishing everything Mommy taught me.

Who _am_ I?

Certainly not the same Fern people are used to.

I think I can feel little pieces of me breaking apart. The part of me that stays calm falls away and my crying gets louder. And there goes my need to keep everything inside. The only personality trait that remains is my pessimism. My lack of dreams. That's one thing I have in common with pre-Games Fern, my utter lack of hope.

I bury my face in my hands, which are caked in dirt and half-dried blood. Each breath I take is shallow. Automatic. I keep hearing my mother's voice in my ear, even though the sane part of me knows she's not really here.

She tells me to be happy.

_Impossible,_ I want to tell her, but the words catch in my throat.

What left is there to be happy for?

At some point, Fawn's voice answers my question.

_Nothing,_ she says, and I can help but believe her.

* * *

><p>District 11: Lily Flores<p>

* * *

><p>I know exactly how I'm going to play this.<p>

It's all about timing. Position. Stealth. I have my every movement planned out, just like I would if I was playing chess with Andre at home.

And what's even better, if these guys are anything like Andre when it comes to playing chess, this will be an easy ploy to pull off.

It's a long day, though. Rowena, Beech, and Wendy aren't very good with making concrete decisions. I lean back against a tree trunk and listen to their conversations, hoping to learn another valuable piece of information about their alliance.

"We need better food reserves," says Beech.

Wendy yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. I notice that she looks a lot younger than twelve and I try to ignore the stab of guilt I feel.

_She's not Andre._

"I know," Rowena answers, brows knitting together. "But we only have one weapon..."

"And we can't leave Wendy here unarmed to watch our supplies." The older boy throws a concerned glance at the little girl, who is now rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her pink dress.

"Or alone."

"Right."

See, normal tributes would be thinking about how a weaker ally would jeopardize their stuff if they were to be left alone, but I don't think that's the case with Rowena and Beech. They care about small, scared, defenseless Wendy, which is more than you can say for me, I guess.

_No, you wouldn't let anyone hurt your brother..._ the better part of me says.

Rowena sighs, "we can't just _sit_ here!"

"We could all go together." Wendy suggests sleepily. "We could wrap our stuff in the blanket and take it with us."

"But, Wen, what about finding our way back?"

She curls up on the blanket, her eyes drifting closed and then blinking open every few seconds. "Bee, we could just look for landmarks."

"It's not than simple Mag- Wendy."

"Sure it is..."

Rowena opens her mouth to protest, but it's no use.

Wendy is already asleep.

Night begins to fall on the arena and the Dream Team doesn't say much as the clouds fade away, turning into stars.

I look up at the sky, wondering how it could look so awful one second and then be so beautiful the next. I wonder if it is an illusion or if everyone in Panem is looking up at the exact same thing Probably not. In Eleven, it's usually very muggy and hot during this time. Andre, along with everyone else, will be walking home now. The giant screen in the town square usually turns off when the sun goes down.

The memory of watching the Games from that perspective—an outsider's—is so real that I forget that I'm here. At least, I _almost_ forget.

That terrible Capitol Anthem plays and I jump at the sudden noise.

Only one cannon fired today.

Sukara Ravo is dead—the girl from Three.

_Another round of tears for the loser,_ I think, rolling my eyes.

Beech and Rowena exchange a look.

"I bet Maggie's going to ask my dad what the pictures mean." he says glumly.

His ally shakes her head at the word 'dad.' I think she was the one who spoke to Caesar about being fatherless.

"I mean, she's way too young to understand and..."

Beech's words trail off. Not because he stops talking, but because I cover my ears. I'm tired of hearing all about siblings and kids and innocence.

It's too much.

I don't really understand why it bothers me so much. I've never had a problem with making anybody lose before, not even in a stupid game of tag. I never minded stealing someone's pieces during a chess match, and this is _just like that._

Only, this time, the pawns have feelings.

* * *

><p>District 2 Mentor: Gabriel Ashford<p>

* * *

><p>I wish I could vanish.<p>

At first, I just wanted to forget.

I didn't want to think about how I cut Crystal's head open or how Cayenne's head washed up on shore after she had been gone for only a few hours. I didn't want to remember what it felt like to see that boy from District 5 commit suicide. And I most certainly did not want to see the corpses that danced behind my eyelids every time I went to sleep.

But I couldn't even have that.

Some of the other victors told me that it would go away with time. Some said that it wasn't that bad to begin with.

They are liars.

It never _ever _goes away.

And it only gets worse with each passing year.

These kids I'm forced to mentor are dumb; they don't realize that winning the Games comes with bad consequences. All they see is fame, fortune, adoration. They grew up thinking that it was normal to slaughter people. They've trained their whole life for this _honor._

So did I.

I lean back in my chair, pressing my fingers into my eyes.

I'm in the Viewing Room. All of the most recent victors gather here. We sit in our designated spots and keep our eyes trained on the large television screen. On our seats, there is a complicated control panel, which we use to send our tributes sponsor gifts. If I press the big yellow button on the far left, a map will pop up, showing me the position of my charges and whatever potential Gamemaker traps are nearby.

I type Adrian's coordinates into the keypad and the Careers pop up on my television immediately.

He is pacing back and forth, listening not-so-intently to Angelina whining and complaining about how her bandage is _so not fashionable_—her exact words. Scout is polishing his knife with one of the half-dead leaves he found. I don't think that either of the two morons notice how the aforementioned leaf is slightly stained with red.

"Autumn should be back soon," Adrian says, holding his lucky necklace.

Scout rolls his eyes. _"Great."_

"You're _so_ right Scout—"

And that's the end of _that._

I turn back to the map, my eyes scanning the positions of the other tributes. Fallon and Fern are at opposite ends of the same sector. I shudder, disturbed by images that will probably end up in my nightmares tonight. _Why_ did that kid have to dismember Clara?

I don't want to deal with anything Fallon-related, but one of the only other alternatives is far more masochistic than contemplating a crazy ax-murder's next move.

But I_ am _a masochist, aren't I?

I don't even give myself a chance to answer before I'm searching for her place in the arena.

She's with that asshole, of course.

They are walking with each other, talking, laughing. She's even smiling. I don't think I can recall the last time I saw her smile genuinely. She smacks him with the heel from one of her shoes and makes an innuendo out of his previous comment. On the corner of my grid, I notice that the Gamemakers have scheduled a storm for sectors two and five.

Shit.

They start to run when a bolt of lightening sets fire to a tree not three feet from where they are.

I watch them rush into a small broken-down house.

It seems like a normal home. Small living-room, complete with an old TV and telephone. I can see an even smaller kitchen with all of the standard appliances. Beyond that, there are several doors leading to other rooms.

I don't like where this is going.

Sure, I don't know why, but a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I close my eyes, hoping it will go away on it's own.

It doesn't.

My hands start to shake and I begin to wonder when the last time I felt numb was.

Too long ago.

I hear her say something—another crude comment—and I lose it.

My fist slams into the control panel and I get up from my chair. I know exactly where I'm going, though I didn't consciously make this place my destination. I walk the familiar route to the elevator, punch the 'two' button, and enter my bedroom; a lavish hell that has all sorts of cool gadgets, but none of the comfort.

I am going mad.

I go over to my bed, pull my secret stash of Morphling from under the mattress, and travel that Godforsaken downward spiral—the only thing that eradicates the pain.

And, for once, I really do think I'm shriveling into nothingness.

_Hallelujah._

* * *

><p><strong><em>The Dead:<em>**

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_


	19. The Mortician's Daughter

**Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics or The Hunger Games**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part V~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>We booked our flight those years ago,<br>I said, "I love you," as I left you.  
>Regrets still haunt my hollow head,<br>But I promised you I will see you again, again._

_~Black Veiled Brides, The Mortician's Daughter~_

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p>District 10: Rowena Wilder<p>

* * *

><p>"Please, Bee?"<p>

I sympathize with Beech sometimes; I really do.

Wendy is always bugging him for something. _Do this or that. Play this game. I'm not too tired to keep watch, really!_ I sometimes wonder why she doesn't bother me. I mean, aren't I nice enough? I don't talk to her in the same tone as I talk to Beech, which isn't all that pleasant considering the circumstances. And I do my best to grin and appear content when she's watching, so there really shouldn't be an issue.

Not that I actually _care_ or anything.

So what if Wendy hardly says anything to me? She let me in the alliance and that's good enough for me.

"No, Wen. You have to stay here with me." Beech is using that odd gentle-yet-stern tone of his, which I'm sure he thinks is the best way to deal with kids.

She shakes her head and folds her arms across her chest. "Why? I want to go with Rowena."

Well, _that's_ a first.

Beech looks at me, a desperate expression on his face.

I roll my eyes. While I'm sort of touched that Wendy wants to hang around me, it's not going to happen. Not even if she tries to cry or throw a tantrum. If she leaves camp with me, I'll not only have to make sure she's close by 24/7, but I'll have to make sure she doesn't pick up anything poisonous along the way. It would suck if she gave Beech a handful of berries and he dropped dead two seconds later

Sure, it would make my job easier in the end, but I don't want her to get upset either.

I shake my head.

He turns back to Wendy. "I'm sorry kiddo, but Rowena has to go on her own."

"_But why?"_

I search through our pile of supplies and find my knife. For good measure, I grab a few more bandages, just in case I run into Angelina again.

"Because I need you to help me." Beech explains. "I can't watch for intruders all by myself, can I?"

For a second, it looks like she's going to protest, but then she closes her mouth and nods. "Okay, Bee. Sounds like fun!"

"I'll be back soon," I tell him.

He doesn't say anything to counter my statement. He never does. Beech Lignum isn't a leader, not by any standards. He's too kind and besides, if he ever dared to contradict me I'd kick his ass.

"Okay."

I begin my trek through the woods by exiting the area the same way I entered it—I think.

I remember seeing that sideways tree a few days ago, so I decide that it will be my landmark. As long as I know where it is I'll be okay. I take several turns once I'm able to figure out how to tell the trees apart. There's a lot of markings on the older ones, so I'm probably farther away from Beech and Wendy and general safety than I'd like to be.

Moving left, I look for a river or something. Anything that would be a source of food.

Eventually, I stumble upon a patch of berries. I pick a few, examining them to make sure they are edible.

_Yes! We can eat these!_

I take as much as my right hand can hold and I soon realize that I can't carry them all, I'll just end up losing them along the way. So I tear some fabric from the sleeve of my dress, using it to make a little bag I can hold onto.

"Why can't the Capitol give us prettier bandages?" a whiny voice asks.

I freeze.

That's Angelina!

My body enters immediate panic-mode. What am I going to do? What if she's on a killing-spree? I sling the bag over my shoulder and make sure my knife is ready. If she so much as looks at me the wrong way, I swear I'll kill her this time.

"Why do you ask such stupid questions?" somebody else responds—Scout, her district partner.

Their voices aren't getting any louder, so they must be staying in one place. Which means... a smile spreads across my face... I've found the Career's camp!

I crouch down, looking through gaps in the trees, hoping to find them.

Sure enough, there they are. All fiv—four of them? I think back, counting the number of cannons I've heard the past few days. There is the bloodbath cannons, where one tribute from nine, ten, and eleven died. Then later, the girl from District 12 got killed. I know that both tributes from District 4 are gone, and just recently, the girl from three died.

The Careers are down one ally.

I don't wait for her to say anything else. I don't need to; I've got all of the information I need.

I quietly slink away, putting my knife away.

Beech jumps ten feet in the air when he sees me walk back into camp. He hods something up... a spear? Where the hell did he get that?

"Oh Rowena," he says, relieved. "It's just you."

"Where did you find that?"

He looks at the weapon in his hand as if he's just noticing in for the first time. "I don't know. I was telling Wendy to go to sleep and I turn back around and there it is."

"That's convenient." I say, rolling my eyes. "Now put that down, you'll never guess what I just found out."

* * *

><p>District 2: Adrian Perham<p>

* * *

><p><em>Killing more than one person: -20 karma points.<em>

"Adrian!" Angelina whines, "you agree with me, don't you?"

"Sure." I say, biting my lip. How many karma points would Scout lose since he killed Cameron _and_ lied to Angelina?

I scribble his name into the dirt, right underneath where I wrote "killing."

_-81 karma points,_ I decide.

I'm the only one who has all of their karma points in tact. See, I devised a full-proof system. Everyone in the alliance started out with ten karma points regardless of their actions before the entered the arena—I'm giving everybody the benefit of doubt—and I subtract the number of points based on their actions.

Needless to say, Scout isn't the Karma Gods' favorite person.

"He isn't even listening to you—nobody cares."

… But his_ is _right, I really don't want to here about how gross Angelina's bloody bandage is.

"Yes they do!"

"Really?" Scout says with a sneer. "What was Angelina bitching about, Adrian?"

"Oh... um... I don't know." I answer nervously. "Maybe Mandy knows."

Almandine sends a knife flying over my head. "_Never _call me that again!" She goes over and yanks the blade out of the tree it got stuck in.

"Got it!" I say.

_Mandy: -30 karma points._

"See," the District 1 boy continues. "Nobody. Gives. A. Shit."

"What_ever."_ Angelina says, shoving her hand in Scout's face. "When did you say Fall would be back?"

She turns to me and I cover my chart with my hands. "Um... I hope soon?" It sounds like a question.

"You better be right about that!"

_I don't know that I want to be, Angelina. I really don't._

* * *

><p>District 8: Drizzle Plont<p>

* * *

><p>"So..." Brandon says, in yet another attempt to strike up a conversation. "Who will you be going back home to? You know, if you win."<p>

_Not Skylark..._ I think bitterly. And old woman who hates me, an almost empty Victor's Village, a brother with one leg, and parents who make-out constantly. Which isn't so bad, I guess, when it comes down to it. I mean, some kids don't have either one of their parents.

"An old lady named Mrs. Twill." I tell him.

"Is she your grandmother or something?"

The thought is almost enough to get me to laugh. Grandmas are supposed to be nice and Mrs. Twill is a bat out of hell. I can't picture her giving me candy or sneaking a piece of jerky for me from my father's butcher shop. She spends way too much time chasing Skylark and I off of her property.

"No way. And I'm glad, if she were my grandmother I'd be dead by now."

Brandon doesn't look too happy about this. "Why?"

"She thinks that we're witches." I say gleefully. That's almost as funny as the grandmother suggestion, and it's made even funnier by the fact that my prep team probably still believes I put a curse on them.

"What?" he says with disbelief, though he cracks a smile at this one. "Why?"

"She thinks we killed her cat, Mr. Needles. He went missing a year or two ago and Skylark told her we made cat soup for dinner."

"Wait... she really named her cat _Mr. Needles?"_ Brandon asks.

"Yup." I grumble impatiently. "Just ask Skylark when he comes back." I crane my neck, trying to peer into the darkness of the woods. I hope that I'll be able to find him before he finds me. Then I'll be able to scare him—which he more than deserves—for running off on me like that.

"Um... Driz?"

"Don't call me that!" I snap, not even looking his way.

"_Drizzle,"_ he corrects. "I don't think he's coming back."

_This_ gets my attention. "What makes you say that?"

Some part of me feels like I might have stepped over a line, that Brandon doesn't really like being treated like shit and he'll leave if I continue to talk to him like that. This theory pisses me off; the idiot started following me around—he even weaseled his way into my alliance—and he wants to leave_ me?_

Bullshit.

"Well, in case you didn't notice, your brother took half of our stuff—he didn't even think twice about it." I can tell he's irritated, which pisses me off even more.

"No he didn't!" I say through clenched teeth.

"Uh, _yes he did." _Brandon glares at me.

"_NO HE DIDN'T!"_

I storm off before he can bad-mouth Skylark any further. I weave in between the trees, praying that I will lose the sound of his footsteps behind me. An unfamiliar stinging sensation attacks my eyes. I know that I won't be able to stop my tears, so I can only hope that no one else will see them. Not Brandon and not the rest of Panem.

I just want to be alone.

When I'm satisfied he's not following anymore, I fall to the ground and start sobbing.

It's like a floodgate opened from behind my eyes. All at once, a waterfall begins to spill down my face. I rub my eyelids, but the crying doesn't stop. If anything, it gets worse and worse and worse. I bet my eyes are puffy. Red. Gross.

Damn Brandon! Damn Skylark! I hate the both of them! They're good-for-nothing wastes of space. One of them ditched me and the other one won't shut the hell up!

"Are you okay?"

I jump at the sound of his voice. "Does it_ look_ like I'm okay?" I wipe my eyes, ridding myself of the last of my tears.

"No, not really."

"Then why did you ask?"

He sits down next to me. "I don't know. Isn't that what people say to someone who's upset?"

I don't answer, so we sit in silence for awhile. The only noises that can be heard are the sounds of crickets chirping somewhere far away. Out of sheer boredom, I start counting the number of chirps. It's something to distract me from my crying. _One, two, three—_

"You really care about him, don't you?"

There he goes with those stupid questions again! "He's my brother. It really isn't all that surprising, and anyway, I already told you that I don't want him to do anything stupid."

"Yeah... but you _really_ care." he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What? _Ick..._ what the hell are you talking about?" I demand, grimacing at the implication.

He shrugs. "You're just insanely over-protective of him. It's sort of weird."

"No I'm not!"

"Really?" he asks, not convinced in the least. "When was the last time you met one of his girlfriends?"

"Never." I say, smirking. "He doesn't date."

"Why? Does Skylark have an STD or something?"

I smack him. _"No._ He doesn't do _that_ either."

"Wow. He must really be ugly compared to all of the other guys in your district then."

I fold my arms across my chest. He's being so difficult and it's so fucking irritating. "Plenty of girls like him, they're just not good enough for him—I told him so."

"And who is?" asks Brandon.

"Not _her."_ I mutter.

"Don't you mean anyone that's not you?" he puts his arm around my shoulder, and even though part of me wants to, I don't pull away.

"Shut up." I say halfheartedly.

"You know I'm right..."

"No, I don't."

But I _do_—at least, it makes sense. Skylark doesn't need anyone besides his family. And he'd better learn that pretty quickly, or else there's going to be some serious issues.

"... And you're just sad that he left. That's okay, you know." he goes on, as if I'm sad instead mad. "I'll never leave and there won't any reason for me to come back."

I roll my eyes. "Stop being cheesy."

But it's nice to know I'll never truly be alone.

* * *

><p>District 3: Clint Manti<p>

* * *

><p><em>Remember, he did this to you.<em>

I want to open my mouth, ask questions, talk. I can't though, it feels like my lips have been sewn together.

Everything is painful. Even thinking. It makes my brain hurt and I get dizzy and I want to throw up. Only I can't. It's one huge cycle that I can't escape. Think, get sick, remember that I can't even vomit. Think, sick, not vomit; over and over again. I just want it to stop, but I know the chances of that are slim.

I don't really know where I am, but I do know that wherever it is, death is my only way out.

_Ransom Sage got you into this mess. He's one of Them!_

Wait! I know who _they_ are! Stupid people. Careless morons.

_Get rid of Them._

I will. I have to. As soon as I get out of this, I'll make sure that _they_ are gone forever.

* * *

><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

* * *

><p>My screams echo throughout the entire house.<p>

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Skylark demands, covering my mouth with his hands.

My hands are shaking, but I still manage to point to the source of my fear.

Two skeletons. Laying side by side in bed. Their bony fingers intertwined.

"Holy shit."

I'm too busy regretting my choice to explore the rest of the cabin to answer him. I wish I hadn't made fun of Skylark for wanting to look around. I wish I had pushed him in front of me and made_ him_ open the door. I shouldn't have screamed, either. It makes me look like a damsel in distress or something. And I most definitely don't want to be that.

He drops his hands, pushes me aside, and ventures into the bedroom.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss, following him before I realize where I'm going.

"Looking around." he says sarcastically. "You know, since you're too _scared_ to do it." The last part is said in a poor imitation of my voice.

"I'm not scared," I protest. "They just startled me."

_Stupid excuse._

"Sure you aren't." Skylark wanders over to the bed, where he inspects the corpses with a morbid fascination.

I watch him from where I stand a few feet inside the doorway, wondering how _he_ could be okay with this when the mere sight of them makes me want to run and hide.

He looks at their faces as if he's actually making eye contact with them. But he's not, they don't have eyes—thank _God._ Unless the thin layer of cobwebs veiling their sockets count, but I don't think they do. Skylark then proceeds to pick up the skeleton's hands—the ones that are stuck together—and smiles. I shudder. He's doing it on purpose because he knows it creeps me out!

"Look Mercy! They're _married,_ isn't that romantic?" he points to their fingers, which have two gold rings on them.

"_Were,"_ I say. "They _were_ married, they're dead now." I try to say this with a calm voice, but my entire body is trembling by the time I finish my sentence.

"_Til death do us part."_ he says, dissolving into laughter.

"It's not funny!"

Skylark doesn't answer. Instead, he breaks their hands apart, several of their fingers falling onto the comforter.

I put my hands on my hips. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Giving us somewhere to sleep."

I stare at him. Is he _insane?_ Like I'd actually sleep in a bed where dead people have been lying for God knows how long.

"And if I don't want to sleep there?" I've recovered enough to speak in my normal voice.

He lifts the husband of off the bed and walks over to the closet, where a bunch of old-fashioned clothes hang. I wrinkle my nose at them. They're covered in more spiderwebs than the dead people!

"Suit yourself. You can sleep out there." he gestures toward the general direction of the living room. "Alone."

I cast a glance at the couch. An old, ugly, piece of crap made from horrible fabric. "No thanks."

"What about in there?" he goes on, a smug look on his face.

He's pointing to yet another door. I can't help but think about what could be inside that room. Monsters, demons, ghosts, the boogeyman... I cringe at all of the terrible images inside of my head. Sure, they're unlikely, but I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to turn these Games into something that nobody could imagine. Not even crazy lunatics or Capitol citizens.

"Why don't you?" I retort.

He takes the wife over to the where the husband sits and places her hand in his, shutting the closet door. "Nope. I'm the one who did all of the work."

"Fine." I relent, looking out the window. "I guess you're right."

It's funny, because I don't remember it being so dark outside when we go here and just seeing the sky a different color suddenly makes me feel tired. I walk over to the bed, flinch as I brush bone-dust of of the bedspread, and lie down.

Skylark looks at me incredulously.

"What?" I ask with a smirk. "Are you going to lie down or not?"

"Sure."

"What's wrong?"

He sighs. "I don't know, I guess I'm just worried about Drizzle. I figured she'd catch up with us eventually."

"She's probably just fucking—" I stop short when I see the pissed off expression on his face. "She's fine." I say in a gentler tone. "I haven't heard any cannons fire and I doubt Brandon would let anything happen to her anyway. You have to admit, he's amazingly loyal, even if he is an annoying little fuck."

"I guess..." he takes the empty spot next to me. "I just feel like she hates me for some reason."

"She doesn't. Trust me, you'd have to do a lot worse to make her hate you." I think of Gabe, who probably can't stand to see my face on his television screen.

_You have to leave and not care about saying goodbye,_ I say to myself.

"I hope you're right."

"I am, just like always. Now go to sleep, I'll take first watch."

I think I hear him say, _"Thanks Mercy,"_ but I can't be sure, not when he's already asleep.

I turn on the lamp that sits on the table next to me, surprised that it works. I keep my eyes trained on the door, but turn my head quickly when I see something red flicker in the mirror. I see another flash of red and a shadow dancing in the light, but then it's gone.

But I still feel like we're being watched.

* * *

><p>District 5: Autumn Coville<p>

* * *

><p>I exit the little house as quietly as possible.<p>

I'm glad I finally found them, but I'm not at all happy that I have to go back to the Career camp.

_Stupid Angelina!_ Who the hell does she think she is? Even if I hate Scout, I still prefer him to her and I wish that he would just kill her already. I can guarantee that everyone in the arena will be so much happier without that dumb bitch. The Capitol people included.

I spit at the thought.

Those idiots! I can't believe that I've actually found someone I hate more than them! Maybe if she stopped talking to me like I'm a baby, I'd tolerate her a little more.

I shake my head. _No, not even then._

My dumb sleeve brushes against a branch, making a much louder noise than I intended.

_Crap!_

"Who's there?" a voice demands.

I roll my eyes when I step into the clearing and see that it's only Scout—who won't kill me because then he'd have to face Angelina's whining and nobody wanted that.

"Me."

"Well," he asks impatiently. "Did you find her?" I can tell that he's excited to find out if his little lie worked. He's like a kid in a candy store when it comes to manipulating people. _Idiot_.

"Yup. She's with that District 8 boy. They've found a house with a TV and bed and everything." I turn around. "You can tell Angelina that."

I start walking away, grumbling curse words under my breath, when he puts his hand on my shoulder. "I've got a much better idea, Autumn."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_

_So, only one more chapter of no deaths before there's more fighting again. I'm not very good with foreshadowing, so what little of it I put in this chapter is probably glaringly obvious, but I hope you guys will be a _little _bit surprised when you read it._


	20. Frail Limb Nursery

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or the quote—which is pretty mean... even though I'm still using it anyway.**

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part VI~<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>An ugly baby is a very nasty object - and the prettiest is frightful."<em>

_~Queen Victoria~_

* * *

><p>District 1: Scout Penumbra<p>

* * *

><p>This is going to be great. Better than the Corey and Grey betrayal. More amazing than placing the blame on Mercy for Cameron's death. This is the ultimate plan.<p>

I smile. "You're absolutely sure that they're close?"

"Are you _stupid?_ I've told you 'yes' a thousand times already!"

"No," I say, glaring at the little girl. "Am I wearing a name tag that says Angelina?"

Autumn throws a very unsettling look at me. "No, but stupidity is notorious for being contagious."

"Look who's talking," I taunt, folding my arms across my chest.

I want to kill her. It would make life in the Career alliance so much easier. Angelina would eventually stop asking for her, Almandine wouldn't care one way or the other, and Adrian would stop looking at the woods with fear in his eyes—he wouldn't have to worry about Autumn killing him at any given second. So, yes, I probably should stab her in the back.

But it would go against my new personal agenda.

"If you were smart—like me—you'd realize that being allies isn't the same as being somebody's fuck buddy."

"I heard their conversation," says Autumn. "And they're not _just_ allies." I can hear the agitation in her voice.

"Good." I say with satisfaction.

"What are you going to do anyway?" she asks snidely. "Ruin one of their dates?"

I shake my head. "Why would I want to do that?"

"You're a conniving bastard."

"But I'm also a hopeless romantic." I say as earnestly as I can manage, though it sounds very sarcastic nonetheless.

"Sure and I'm Blondie's BFF." Autumn says.

"Sucks for you," I tell her, turning around and heading in the opposite direction.

I know exactly who I'm looking for. The only catch is, I don't know where I need to look... hence my need for Autumn. I could spend hours combing the woods, but I'm fairly certain she's seen them in passing once or twice—hopefully.

I also hope she follows me. At least then I wouldn't have to come up with an elaborate lie about how I need her and all that. I'm pretty certain that she'd see right through it anyway, she just seems like that kind of person... yet another reason she needs to go. I'm tempted to come up with more items to add to my "Pro-Kill Autumn" list, but my thoughts come to a halt when I hear quiet footsteps hurrying to catch up with me.

_All according to plan, _I think, grinning happily.

"Where are you going?" she demands, falling into step with me. "Camp is that way, idiot."

"Why the hell would I go back there?"

"Because Angelina will bitch at you."

I swear, if she keeps talking to me like my mother dropped me on my head when I was a baby, I will staple her mouth shut.

"Yeah..." I say carefully, placing a fixed amount of false cheer into the word. "But I won't be around to hear it."

"I guess I'm stuck with you, then." she wrinkles her nose.

"Oh _great!"_

"_Ditto." _Autumn says with equal bitterness. "Where are we headed?"

"I was actually hoping you could tell me..."

For the first time since I've met her, Autumn Coville actually looks a little worried.

* * *

><p>District 9: Fern Gresham<p>

* * *

><p><em>Dear Diary, <em>

I etch the words into the dirt, my fingers trembling as I write each word.

This stick isn't a very good replacement for that fountain pen I usually use (a gift from my parents before everything when to hell) and my penmanship is total crap—but I can only blame my lack of a good writing utensil on so much, most of my problems stem from the fact that Fawn and Mom haven't shut up since they started to talk to me.

_I think I'm going crazy... like Dad—only worse. Like Dad and that mentally unstable victor Cobb Hansen, who died last year. Did he hear voices? He must have..._

I stop writing again.

This isn't the same as recording my thoughts in my journal. Permanent ink is used to keep the words on the pages there. Each and every letter will still be there, even long after I die. These words... these thoughts... they will ultimately be lost. Washed away by the next rain storm, trampled on by some poor tribute running from the Careers, or worse... by a Capitol child who is touring the arena for his birthday.

_I think it's great, honey._ Mom says kindly. _Just great. Why don't you draw a picture to go with it?_

"I can't draw," I say inaudibly.

_Try... believe in yourself._

"No."

But I pick up the stick again anyway. Try to envision something happy, sketch a picture of Mommy, Daddy, Mick, and I into the ground. Draw what is supposed to be the sun above our heads. Put a smile and sunglasses on it.

It looks like crap.

I frown, digging my fingers into the Earth, erasing everything I made.

Mom is shaking her head, frowning in disappointment. _Honey..._

"Don't 'honey' me," I warn her. "This is pointless."

_No, it's not. _Fawn says. _It's nice. I remember daydreaming about stuff like that._

"_Whatever." _I wave their kind words away and I'm about to tell them they are both crazy when I hear a child.

Crying? No... _laughing. _A kid—though he is older than he sounds, probably fourteen—is giggling about the Hunger Games!

I don't know what compels me to do this, but I get up from my spot, hand curling around the lone piece I was able to find in the leaves.

I try not to be so scared of the way the trees look. They tower over my head menacingly, branches sharp and dangerous-looking. The sky is now getting lighter. What was once pitch-black in color is now a ghoulish purple. I wince every time my foot hits something, whether it's a fallen tree branch or the bloodied carcass of a little animal.

It's all the same to me.

When the giggling gets louder I stop walking, glad that I don't have to move anymore.

I press my back up against a tree. Strain to hear all of the one-sided conversation this boy is having with himself.

"And... and I.." tons of laughter. "Didn't even have to do … a... thing!"

Peering around the tree trunk, I can see the District 6 boy curled in the fetal position, chortling like a madman. He is right next to a pool of blood. My first thought is that he killed the tribute (who must have been picked up by a Capitol hovercraft) but when I look at him again, I don't see any fresh blood stains on his shirt. No, only one or two faded ones on the sleeves. I also notice one on the hem of his shirt when he sits up.

But none from a recent kill.

_He's still a murderer, _Fawn says.

_And killers don't make the world a better place, _says Mom.

That look of disappointment comes back to me. The one she gave me after I broke my token.

I don't ever want her to feel I haven't lived up to her expectations ever again. And though some distant part of me knows that the plan unfurling in my head makes no sense, I don't listen to it. I want to make the world a better place—like my mom said. And if getting rid of the monsters in this arena is one way to do that, then so be it.

* * *

><p>District 5: Ransom Sage<p>

* * *

><p>I haven't moved from my spot in God knows how long.<p>

I don't want to.

I don't want to do anything.

Clint's horrified face is burned in my memory. Blood covering his eyes, falling over his nose, mouth, chin. How I wasn't able to move. How I just wanted to say sorry. _I'm so so so sorry!_ But it will never be enough.

He could be dead for all I know anyway. I know that another cannon fired, but I didn't bother to look at the sky when they showed the victim's face.

_It's Clint, _I tell myself, because I don't want him to have lived through all that.

I also tell myself that it was _smart_ of me to make that choice. Because, chances are, he would have died by now anyway. That I probably would be dead, too, if I didn't run away like I did.

And I still have a chance to go home now.

I picture myself arriving back in District 5, a bunch of girls with signs that proclaim their love for me in their hands. Tons and tons of money, chicks practically lined up at my door in Victor's Village; just waiting to get a piece of me.

Clint would be proud.

Right?

A creepy owl hooting in the distance brings my thoughts elsewhere.

Why does it feel like someone is watching me?

_Because they are, _a voice in the back of my head says with a chuckle.

* * *

><p>District 8: Drizzle Plont<p>

* * *

><p>"I know where your brother is."<p>

I'm not familiar with whoever said this, so I'm immediately suspicious.

I look over my shoulder, only to see a Career and a loser standing in the clearing. The girl from five, Autumn and the District 1 boy, Scout.

I roll my eyes. "Really? And why the hell should I believe that?"

Scout elbows the girl in the ribs. "I saw him." she says, giving him a dirty look. "He's with that District 2 girl, right?"

"Yeah," Brandon says before I can stop him.

"So?"

"_So," _says Scout, a bit impatiently. "Do _you_ know where he went?"

_No._ "Sure I do."

"Good."

"Because they've got a nice set up," remarks Autumn.

This piques Brandon's interest. "They do?"

I should hit him. Why is he giving away potentially crucial information? Is he _stupid?_ Yes, yes he is, but... he's there for me whenever I need him—unlike some _other_ idiots I know. So I lower my hand, deciding it would be a bad idea to smack Brandon.

"Oh, sure." Scout tells us dismissively. "But you already knew that so..." he turns and beckons to Autumn, who does the same.

"Wait!" I shout. It's like something inside of me has snapped, like if I let them go I will never see Skylark again.

"Yes?"

"What do I have to give you if you take us to him?"

The Career thinks this over for a minute. "You mean _them, _of course. If we take you to _them."_

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

"Oh... nothing, really." he's still using that nonchalant tone. "These little debts usually take care of themselves."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Right."

I _should_ say no (like I should have punched Brandon) but I think of Skylark... of seeing him again. Maybe he'll apologize for ditching me. Of _course_ he will! And I don't think we've been away from each other for that long, but it feels like forever. Once we reunite the hole in my chest will go away. Everything will be better.

It has to be.

"Fine." I say quickly. Curtly.

"Well," a cat-like smiles appears on Scout's face. "Let's go."

I take Brandon by the hand. As I drag him through the woods, he whines about how his wrist hurts. I roll my eyes and ignore him, keeping my gaze fixed on Scout's back as we delve deeper and deeper into the dead forest...

I'm nearly crying in anticipation of seeing Skylark again.

"Here we are!" he announces, holding his arms over his head.

We are standing in front of a small, broken down little cabin.

It doesn't look like anything special. More like crappy, what with the broken shutters and peeling paint. Skylark would never spend any time here—especially with a dumb, self-serving, slutty, crazy, bitch—

"Where are you going?" I demand, dropping Brandon's hand like it is a contagious disease.

"Inside," Scout answers, and I have no choice but to follow.

* * *

><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

* * *

><p>I jump at the sound of the door slamming shut.<p>

"Did you hear that?"

"Sure, I guess so..." Skylark say, bored.

"I'm serious!" I insist irritably. "I swear something is in here with us!"

I throw a cursory glance around the bedroom. Nothing appears out of place, nothing is dancing on the walls, and the lighter sky makes everything seem a little more normal. Like we aren't in an arena to fight to the death. I can pass this off as a horror movie with a stupid plot if I think about it enough... just a bad story that we can escape from.

Happily Ever Afters _do_ exist.

I'm too far gone to be disgusted with myself anymore.

"Really? Then what is it? All you've done so far is wake me up from a very good dream and shown no evidence of whatever the hell you think this is."

"What were you dreaming about?"

"It doesn't matter, Mercy. Get to your point already!"

Of course I don't have to really ask... it's obvious by his reaction and I will definitely be giving him shit for it later, but only after I get rid of this intruder.

"The _point_ is—" I begin, but I'm cut off by that sound again. _"That!"_

I yank Skylark off the bed and drag him out of the room. Down the hallway and into the next room.

"Get your knife ready," I instruct.

Once he does as I tell him, I take a deep breath. _One, two, three..._ I open the door, expecting to find a monster, surprised when I realize that this is a child's room. Not the demon's lair I had been imagining. The walls are covered in wallpaper decorated in teddy bears and rattles, there's a rocking chair in the corner, and a crib with a mobile hanging over it.

_So _that's_ where the noise is coming from._

I approach the crib carefully... making sure Skylark is still behind me.

Inside, there is a sleeping baby.

I press my fist to my mouth, suppressing a scream and drawing blood on my knuckles.

She is still_ alive_.

Without knowing why, I reach towards her, maybe to save her, maybe to make sure she is real... I don't really know.

The moment my fingers brush against her cheek, a swarm of spiders come out of her mouth.

Holy mother fucking shit!

I push Skylark aside and make a beeline for safety. I rush down the hallway, and back into the other room.

Burying my face in a pillow, I start to sob uncontrollably. It feels like some unknown force has finally pushed me over the edge, and I no longer have any semblance of strength or control anymore.

I. Am. Weak.

"It's okay to be scared, you know." Skylark tells me.

"No it's not." I say, my voice muffled by the pillow.

"Uh... yeah it is. Don't be stupid."

He sits on the edge of the mattress, pulls me up, forces me to look at him.

"Go away."

"Shut up, then." I'm surprised by how gentle he looks, even despite the harsh words.

I shiver when he wipes away my tears with his thumb... I don't like that he has to see me like this, but is not as bad as I thought it would be. Pain is a lot easier to deal with in numbers, no wonder Gabriel is always with me... no wonder he puts up with my sarcasm. It's harder to be alone than I want it to be.

So I blame what I do next on that realization.

I place my hands on either side of Skylark's face, bring my lips to his, decide that everything is shit and I just don't care anymore.

I lose myself in my emotions, oblivious to everything else on the planet.

* * *

><p>District 12: Brandon Carl Kindle<p>

* * *

><p>I hold Drizzle back as she watches Mercy and Skylark kiss.<p>

I also look at Scout, who seems to know exactly what he did—all the trouble he caused.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_

_Yay... that's officially the last non-action-oriented chapter for awhile._


	21. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics or the Hunger Games.**

* * *

><p><em>So, thanks to everyone who read the previous chapter! Now it's time to read about death and stuff—as terrible as that sounds. This chapter was heavily inspired by my Beatles-mania and instead of having only a portion of the lyrics posted, they will be intertwined throughout the whole chapter.<em>

_Let's read on, shall we?_

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part VII~<strong>

* * *

><p>District 8: Skylark Plont<p>

* * *

><p>At first, I'm completely shocked by what's happening. I never expected this to happen—not while I was in the arena, at least. But I can't say that it bothers me as much as it probably would bother other people, namely Drizzle. I feel almost guilty for half of a second, but then Mercy kisses me and I don't (maybe for the first time ever) think of my sister anymore.<p>

And then she looks at me, a frown on her face, studying my face with close scrutiny.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I wasn't going to do that."

"_But you just couldn't resist, right?"_ I say, acid dripping from my tone. I'm baiting her, because I know exactly how she'll respond, what she'll do. I don't know why I want this to happen, only that I just want to do something other than rot in this house.

"No," she answers, reluctant embarrassment soon gives way to anger. "I was just upset. Sorry that dead babies and decomposing bodies don't turn me on. I know that's you're poison."

"Wrong again. Try old ladies with anger management issues."

She glares at me. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing."

"Right. So it's normal to—"

"Stop dancing around the subject." I command, smirking a little when she gives me the finger. "Just tell me why you_ really_ kissed me."

"I don't respond to authority." says Mercy. "Your attitude is shit."

"So is yours." I fold my arms across my chest, relenting when she doesn't say anything. "I didn't mind, okay? It was nice, it would just be nicer if you didn't act like you don't care."

"I guess I do." Mercy tells me.

"Okay."

And then I kiss her.

_**She's not a girl who misses much  
>Do do do do do do do do, oh yeah<br>She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand**_

I think she might push me away, but she doesn't. I can feel her smile against my lips and we fall back onto the pillows.

I can hear Drizzle's voice in my mind. I picture her angry face. I think of how she would be yelling at me right about now. _Stop it, Skylark! Don't be a dumbass. So many things could go wrong and she's so not good enough for you. She's worse than fucking Paisley Noam. _

And I'm tired of listening to it.

I'm tired of feeling like I should keep her opinions in mind when I'm making a decision. For once, I just want to think about what's best for me—not my twin sister. And besides, she's not even here and what she doesn't know won't hurt her. It's like that one time with Mrs. Twill. It was better for her to think we ate her cat than for her to know that Mr. Needles really ran away to another family.

Ignorance is bliss, I guess.

She won't find out about any of this. Not that this is going much farther than either of us really expected it to. Not that I'm enjoying myself or that I feel differently about her input in my personal life. And certainly not that we aren't attached at the hip like she likes to believe.

It will be okay.

And with my new mindset, I let everyone else fade away.

* * *

><p>District 11: Lily Flores<p>

* * *

><p>I'm finally bored of watching them.<p>

I think of got enough information on them anyway—even some useless shit that nobody else cares about.

Dropping from my perch in the tree, I brush the dirt from my dress and take a deep breath.

This is the hard part.

I have to be polite. Nice. I need to act almost helpless, too, like I'm at the end of my rope. It's all part of the plan. I think I've almost perfected it. Give someone an opening, a chance to knock you down a peg, and they'll take it. You just have to make sure that they don't know what's coming next. Don't go for the obvious or else your opponent will see right through your strategy. Then, you have to swoop in and take their chess piece. Once you've got that, winning is pretty surefire thing.

I break the heel of my ugly, red shoe and do my best to look out of energy.

_You can do this, _I tell myself, _it's just a game._

So I walk into their camp, stumble a few times, and fall on the ground.

"Look!" Wendy calls out, yanking on Rowena's sleeve. "An intruder!"

Beech approaches me, handmade spear in his hand.

"Hello," I say softly.

"Hi," he says, and now that he's closer I can tell that he's very uncomfortable with the weapon.

I cough once. Look at him with pleading eyes. "Please... I'm not here to hurt you... any of you... I'm just so... tired."

He lowers the spear almost immediately.

"I mean, it would stink if you killed me... with... my own spear..." I prattle on, studying the boy's face carefully.

Beech's eyes light up. He looks at me, then at my gift. I can almost see the connection forming in his head. _"You_ gave this to me?"

"I... made it," I say, "then I gave it to you."

"Thank you."

I nod.

"Why?" The older girl, Rowena, pipes up.

_**Like a lizard on a window pane  
>The man in the crowd with the multi-coloured mirrors<br>On his hobnail boots  
>Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy<br>Working overtime  
>A soap impression of his wife which he ate<br>And donated to the National Trust**_

_Because you guys needed it._

As much as I want to say otherwise, I can't.

I keep seeing my brother in Wendy and I remember watching them, thinking of Andre watching me watching them and feeling terrible. So, yeah, maybe I had other reasons for supplying them with that weapon, but it still fits in nicely with everything else. I can still do this, it will still work. It _has _to.

"You only... had that... one knife and... I didn't need it... so here we are."

"Well, you can at least let us repay you." the District 7 boy says.

"H- how?"

He smiles at me, helps me to my feet, brings me over to the blanket. "Stay with us. Rowena and I need someone to watch Wen while we look for food."

"I don't know..." I look at Rowena, who seems torn.

_Better act weaker._

"I can't do very much..."

"I'll watch her, then!" Wendy cheers, effectively squashing any thought of Rowena making me leave.

"Is that okay with you, Lily?"

I squint at Beech. How the hell does he know my name? I know I haven't told him anything about me, and I really don't expect him... oh, he remembered it. I feel stupid and kind of touched that he cared enough to keep tabs on the other tributes—even me and I've been plotting against them since day one, maybe even before then.

I try to smile at him. "Um, sure. Sounds great."

"Good, then you're in the alliance." Wendy announces.

It looks like this is going to be harder than I thought...

* * *

><p>District 3: Clint Manti<p>

* * *

><p>I'm on a mission.<p>

Some distant part of me knows that this whole thing is wrong, but I only have one goal: Kill Ransom Sage.

The boy who was almost responsible for my death.

All because he is one of _them._

Those careless people who don't think before they act. The ones who don't realize that what they choose effects other people—not just themselves. That even though they get out of trouble unscathed, there still has to be someone around to take the fall. Endure the punishment.

_Me._

My hand finds the gun that sits in the waistband of my pants. I found it when I snapped out of that terrible roller coaster of emotions. I don't even know who put it there. Only that I was still in that dank basement, right next to that torture device. I also realized that Ransom was why my throat was still raw from screaming, why my eyelids felt as though they had been ripped off my face, why I have a long gash running from my eye to the corner of my mouth.

Which is where the revenge comes in.

I see the world through different eyes now. Live by the an eye for an eye mentality, only better. It's more like a heart for an eye or a liver or stomach—any vital organ works.

He made a pathetic camp between two trees. He doesn't even have any shelter or food or water. He's just lying there, sniveling like the coward he is.

I _hate_ him.

I stomp over to where he is, forgetting about how I planned on being inconspicuous.

Ransom looks up when he senses my presence.

"Clint!" he says, jumping up and running over to me. "I'm so so so so so so so sorry. I promise never to leave you like that again! I mean, when I win I'll totally name my first kid after you... it won't even take that long because the ladies will be all over me and—"

"Shut up."

So he hugs me.

Only in Ransom's world would "shut up" translate to "hugs are okay."

I shove him away. "Don't touch me!"

"But—"

"I'm not here to except your apology, idiot."

"Well then what..." he trails of when he sees me with the gun. "Oh_ please please please_ don't kill me... we'll think of something else! I promise to make it up to you—I swear on that hot blonde chick from District 4!"

**Down  
>I need a fix cos I'm going down<br>Down to the bits that I left uptown  
>I need a fix cos I'm going down<strong>

"She's dead." I say in a monotone.

He shakes his head. "No, I meant that guy's girlfriend."

The safety clicks off.

A bullet lodges itself in Ransom's arm. A perfect circle of red stains his shirt, seeping through his fingers as he desperately tries to staunch the flow of blood. I can see the tears rolling down his face and I try to care, but all I see is the boy who left me for dead.

And I just can't deal with that.

I fire another shot, this time in his leg.

Ransom's crying gets louder and louder and the blood begins to drip on the ground.

"See, there's a difference between me and you, Ransom. You left me to suffer and I'm here to end it."

And I do.

The final bullet buries itself in his brain, leaving another hole on his forehead.

_**Mother Superior jump the gun...**_

* * *

><p>District 6: Fallon Zeider<p>

* * *

><p>I don't even see her.<p>

Fern Gresham is the last person on Earth I expect to find in the arena.

And here she is.

"You're a monster," she says accusingly.

My knee-jerk reaction is to argue the opposite. That I'm just a little boy—a weakling—who can't even handle the thought of killing another human being.

But I don't.

It's kind of nice, having someone seeing me for who I really am right off the bat.

"I know." I answer as sweetly as I can. "You could tell that to my best friend, Addle. Better yet, tell my dear old dad, he wouldn't believe you but you can't win them all, can you?"

"You killed Sukara, didn't you?"

"I wish."

She shakes her head. It's almost like she knew I'd say that. "You're still a murderer."

"Duh. Just ask the District 12 girl."

"You don't deserve to be alive."

"Alright then..." I say, an idea forming in my head. I toss her my knife. "Why don't you do something about it."

Fern lets the blade hit the ground. She stares at it in pure disgust.

"Do it. I _dare_ you."

Her eyes meet mine and she bends down to pick it up, a look of nausea on her face.

Of course, I don't think she'll do it; she doesn't have the guts. So it takes me by surprise when a sharp pain assaults my stomach. I look down to see the knife handle protruding from my abdomen. I shut my eyes, open them, try to keep things in focus. But Fern's expression is fuzzy and I think she's talking, but I can't be sure.

"I'm sorry, Mom." and then her lips move, and her words are barely audible. "It's okay honey."

_**Happiness is a warm gun (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)  
>Happiness is a warm gun, mama (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)<br>When I hold you in my arms (Oo-oo oh yeah)  
>And I feel my finger on your trigger (Oo-oo oh yeah)<br>I know no one can do me no harm (Oo-oo oh yeah)**_

I close my eyes and think of the peace I found at the death of others.

* * *

><p>District 5: Autumn Coville<p>

* * *

><p>God, is everyone a fucking idiot?<p>

The answer to that is obvious.

Hell yes.

I'm still stuck in this small room with Scout and Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, still spying on those other morons, as if what they're doing really matters.

"Brandon!" Drizzle shrieks, though the sound is muffled by the kid's hand. "Let go of me!"

I watch as she struggles to leave and fails miserably. It's hilarious, or it would be if she shut up. Personally, I think it's stupid for her to care so much about her brother's personal life. She's going off the fucking deep end and she looks like someone from the Capitol on drugs.

"No, Driz." he says sternly.

"I'm going to kill her!"

Scout looks at me with a smirk on his face, I guess this is working out pretty well for him. "You're enjoying this, too, aren't you?"

"Of course I am." I don't miss the condescending tone in his voice.

I kick him in the shin, he curses, but he doesn't retaliate.

Instead, he addresses Drizzle.

"I bet you do." I've never heard Scout sound so... _nice._ It makes me want to puke. "But you aren't going to want your brother around when you do it. Something tells me he won't like seeing you stab his girlfriend."

"What do I care?" she says, but I can tell he has her attention anyway.

"I mean, you don't want to destroy your relationship with him. He obviously likes her _a lot."_ he gestures to the door, reminding the girl that her brother is fucking some girl's brains out not twelve feet away from her.

It's kind of brilliant.

She spits at my feet, glaring at Scout like he's nothing more than the scum on the bottom of her shoes. I make a move to smack her across the face, but Scout catches my hand.

"_Listen,"_ he says pointedly, "I'll help you, all I have to do is get him out of the house, you just have to take care of the rest. Deal?" he holds out his hand.

She takes it. "Deal."

And things just got a lot more interesting.

_**Because happiness is a warm gun, mama (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)  
>Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)<br>Happiness is a warm, yes it is, gun (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)  
>Well, don't you know happiness is a warm gun, mama? (Happiness is a warm gun, yeah)<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_

_District 5: Ransom Sage_

_District 6: Fallon Zeider_

_Just to let you know, I will be starting a new SYOT. The synopsis is on my profile. PM me if you want to reserve a spot._


	22. Iron Jawed Angels

**Disclaimer:I don't own the copyrighted shit.**

* * *

><p><em>Serious shit is about to go down... read on everyone.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>~The Games, Part VIII~<strong>

* * *

><p><em>All the fear has left me now<br>I'm not frightened anymore  
>It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh<br>it's my mouth that pushes out this breath_

_~Sara Mclachlan, Fumbling Towards Ecstasy~_

* * *

><p>District 10: Rowena Wilder<p>

* * *

><p>While the others sleep, I stay awake.<p>

I told them that I would take the first watch, but it's not likely that I'll wake Lily or Beech up. I'm too mad at the District 7 boy for letting her into the alliance to make him do his job. And, well, there's just _something_ about that girl. I don't believe her—she's not hurt—and I wouldn't be surprised if something awful happens tonight.

So, this is going to be a very long night.

My thoughts drift to the discovery I made earlier—the Career camp. I wonder if I could get Beech to follow me back there. Probably not, he'd try to include Wen and Lily and that can't happen. They'll get us caught, and then we'd end up dead.

It looks like I'll be going myself, then.

And whatever happens, happens and that's that. If Lily slaughters them while I'm gone, my job will be done with.

So why do I feel so guilty?

* * *

><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

* * *

><p>I find myself staring at the ceiling, tired and content.<p>

I haven't spoken a single word to Skylark in a good half an hour, but I don't really want to talk. There isn't much for me to say. I mean, one wrong word and we'll talk about our feelings and not just the physical ones either; it will move to emotional attachment eventually and that idea really makes me want to puke.

So I close my eyes and pretend to sleep.

It's not a very effective tactic, though, because he starts talking anyway.

"You can 'wake up' at any time."

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell him, keeping my eyes shut.

I hear him sigh and mutter something under his breath. "Are we really back to this?"

"Back to what?" I ask, playing dumb.

"You're attitude. Why are you still pretending that you don't give a damn?" he sounds so angry. I'm kind of thrilled that I could do absolutely nothing and still get him pissed off or rather, get a reaction out of him. Not that he'd ever find that out. I'd be taking that bit of information to my grave.

"It's not pretending," I assure him, venom dripping from my voice.

It only occurs to me that I shouldn't have said that when I see Skylark's face fall, a hurricane of emotions reflecting in his eyes. Pain is the most obvious feeling, sorrow comes in second, but anger is what he acts upon.

"Drizzle was right about you," he says quietly, and his eyes get even darker than they already are. I flinch at the rage in his words. "You _are_ a whore."

I open my mouth, expecting some poorly-thought-out-yet-oh-so-insulting-barb to fall off my lips, but I'm completely silent. That hurts, and I can't even say anything to combat it—not when Skylark looks like _that._ Like he's been punched in the gut.

So I say nothing.

It's better that way.

"I thought so." he mutters, disappointed.

He gets off the bed, collects his clothing, storms out of the room, and then the front door slams shut.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. They're burning again and I'm praying that I won't start crying. Not again. Once is enough, once is one time too many, especially when I remember that I'm on television and everybody and their mother will be able to see me.

But the tears come anyway, and it doesn't even help.

Nothing will ever fill this gaping hole in my chest.

* * *

><p>District 7: Almandine Bandica<p>

* * *

><p>"Do you hear that?" I ask Adrian, who is still trying to tune Angelina's nasally siren voice out.<p>

"Sadly," he mumbles, though he looks guilty, like he shouldn't have said it at all. "I mean, she is an okay leader, but it would be nice if she'd just shut up."

"Hell will freeze over before that happens. But I'm talking about _that_ noise." I cover his mouth so he can't respond and make him listen.

It sounds like some stupid squirrel fell out of a tree and got lost or something. I mean, no human can walk and make that little of a noise.

That's a lesson my dad taught me a long time ago.

"_Almandine, stop playing with that knife and listen to me."_

"_I _am_ listening!" I protest, but he takes the weapon from me anyway._

"_We're training, and you're not taking this seriously."_

"_I am!"_

_He leaves the training room/pit of hell muttering curse words under his breath and I can hear him walking down the hallway and into his bedroom. _

_I don't remember how long he left me there, but I remember that it felt like forever before I even heard the smallest of noises. Not even the house settled. No bugs or mice made any sound within the walls. And then... hands wrap themselves around my neck, crushing my Goddamned windpipe._

"_HELP!" I sputter, clawing at the fingers around my neck._

_That makes the asshole tighten his grip. _

_I kick and scream—a few tears even roll down my face—and finally I can breathe._

"That_ is why you listen to me." he says sternly. "You have to be alert or you could be dead in seconds. Pay. Attention!"_

_I rub my throat, anger burning in my eyes. "Fuck you."_

And that's the only lesson I take seriously.

I nudge Adrian and we both go over to the bushes, where the noise is gradually getting louder as time goes on. I change my mind about the squirrel. Animals are fleeting, Dad says they never stay in one place for too long, especially in the arena, where they are programmed to rip your fucking throat out.

I look over my shoulder.

Angelina still hasn't noticed the change in atmosphere.

More fun for me and Adrian, I guess.

I prod the District 2 boy in the back. "Look in the bushes, idiot."

"Okay..." he responds, sounding scared. "Here goes nothing..."

When Adrian parts the leaves, I see a tribute hiding there. I can't place her face nor can I think of a name for her. She looks at us with an expression of malice, but I can see the fear in her eyes, too. She's just as scared of us as Adrian is of her—or that weirdo Autumn, for that matter.

Fantastic.

"Well, well, well, look who decided she wanted to be part of the Careers."

Angelina Devon has finally decided to check back in—thank God. No more talking about life in District 1.

"What's your name?" I demand, hands on my hips.

Adrian throws a worried glance at me, and he can't even look our "leader" in the eyes.

"Rowena." he says, giving our latest victim a pleading look. "She's from District 10, right?"

"Shut up." is all she says in response.

I share a look with Angelina, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing as I am.

"Adrian, grab the rope."

"What? Why?" he asks, voice breaking at the last word.

"Oh," I say, "don't worry about that. You'll find out."

* * *

><p>District 2: Mercy Tenebrae<p>

* * *

><p>For a brief moment, I consider going after him, but I can't bring myself to move from my spot.<p>

He hates me now, so what's the point?

Just like Gabriel does... my best friend's face swims into my mind. I try to remember the good times, the days we spent hanging out with James, making fun of those popular girls in school, switching Iona's fancy shampoo with green hair dye, training for the Games, and just lying side by side; talking about nothing at all... meaningless things that somehow meant everything. But all I can picture is how hurt he looked when he spotted me making out with Pierce Sabre in ninth grade, when I kicked him out of my room the first night he was home, how I didn't care, never listened.

And then I compare his face to Skylark's. They looked nothing alike, of course but I can't think of two people who are more similar. I hurt him, too. So much so that he left me, just like Gabe did that last night before I entered the arena, when he didn't come to my room.

I should have stopped him... told him the truth... told him how much I really do care. Maybe said that I wouldn't have kissed him if I didn't like him—not like that, not in a moment of weakness, because God knows that I don't have a problem doing whatever I want when I think I have the upper-hand. Not even sex, and it's not like I can act like I wasn't vulnerable during that either.

Why do I have to push everyone away?

Sighing, I drag myself out of bed and retrieve my dress from the floor.

The house seems even more creepy now that I'm alone. I'm very aware of the skeletons behind those doors and the infant in the nursery, whom I also abandoned.

I yank the sleeves over my arms and leave the room. The air in here is way too stale and I feel like I'm suffocating.

I wander down that hallway, and I know where I'm going even though I know that place will send me to the brink of insanity yet again.

The nursery looks exactly the same as it did when I left it, but the door is shut... maybe Skylark closed it before he left. Whatever it the reason, it leaves me uneasy. She is still lying in the crib though, which I take as a good sign and there isn't a trace of those spiders either and that makes me think that I imagined the whole fucking thing.

I lean over, giving the baby a kiss on the forehead. I catch a glimpse of the writing on her onesie.

_Chrysanthemum._

I'm immediately brought back to Gabe's interview with Caesar—the one he had right after he became victor—the green-haired loser had asked him what he planned on doing now that he could go back to District 2. Gabriel gave the party line: Spend more time with his family, maybe get married and have kids when enough time passes.

_"And what will you name them?"_

_"Well, I like the name Chrysanthemum, but my best friend Mercy would probably kill me for that one."_

I was right before. The Gamemakers are really pulling out all of the stops this year, even going as far as to torment me with a slight comment made a year ago. Why not remind me of all the terrible things I've done? Why stop at just something only Gabe and I will get?

_Because they want it to look like you've gone insane for no reason, _I think to myself.

Before I can even think about reacting to this new realization, I hear the door open and close.

"Skylark," I begin, telling myself that apologizing to him will be easy. "I'm—"

"Think again." the person says and I don't know whether to be pissed off or relieved to hear their voice.

Drizzle is finally here.

* * *

><p><strong>District 9: Fern Gresham<strong>

* * *

><p>I killed Fallon.<p>

His blood stains the knife I'm holding in my hand.

This kid's parents will never see their son again.

All because of _me._

These things hit me one by one, smacking me in the chest like a wrecking ball. I can't reconcile what I feel now and my reasons for challenging the District 6 boy in the first place. Of course it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now all I want to do is curl up in a ball and disintegrate.

I wonder if Dad will know I took someone's life away from them or if he is too drunk to realize what happened

_Too drunk._

I wonder what Mick will do, because surely he saw every second of it. He's always out of the house during the span of the Games, watching them on the screen in the town square.

_Probably vandalize Mrs. Mark's store._

What is Mom thinking?

_That her daughter did what she had to so she could survive, _she whispers.

But Fallon wasn't bothering me, he didn't even kill Sukara... I killed him because I t_hought _he was a horrible person, but I don't even know if that is true or not.

_Doesn't matter... _Fawn says, like she has heard my every thought, _we're all killers in this arena._

I look to my mother for confirmation.

She nods at me, smiling a very un-Mom-like smile.

_She's right, Fern._

"I don't know about that..." I tell them.

_Honey, have I ever steered you wrong?_

"Of course not, Mom." _Of course not._

Somehow, in those eight little words my fear of being hated fades away and I start to think that maybe things will be just fine.

* * *

><p>District 8: Skylark Plont<p>

* * *

><p>"Trouble in paradise?"<p>

I grit my teeth at the sound of Scout's voice. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, you and Mercy. Don't you guys have a thing or something?" he wiggles his eyebrows in an attempt to be funny, but he can't pull it off.

"That's none of your damn business." I mutter, glaring at him.

"Of course it's not, but you're being stupid if you ask me."

"Yeah, well no one asked you."

He starts to walk beside me, as if he genuinely wants to talk to me about a relationship that has nothing to do with him. "I mean, think about it. Only one of us is going home, do you really want to spend the rest of your life acting like you hate someone who clearly care about?"

"It doesn't matter... I don't even know why you would care. Shouldn't you be killing me?"

"I probably will—eventually. But I love a good Happily Ever After so..." he takes my by the shoulders and steers me back toward the cabin.

"Get off of me man!"

I don't know why the hell he's being so pushy about this. I don't even know how he found out about it... unless he ran into Drizzle and she complained about it. Wait... if he saw her he might have hurt her. I try to think back to the past couple of days. How many cannons have fired. Two, I think. At least since the District 3 girl died.

"Did you kill my sister?" I demand, hitting Scout in his side.

He winces. "No, someone killed that pervert from five and that weird loner from six. Their pictures were in the sky last night. Weren't you paying attention?" he sounds like he's trying to hold back a laugh.

Relief floods my body.

I don't want to think about what would happen if I lost Drizzle, even considering it for a second bothers the shit out of me. I volunteered to make sure she won and even if her controlling attitude pisses me off sometimes, she just has my best interest at heart. And she was right about Mercy anyway...

"Nobody misses the pictures... unless their doing someone else."

_"What?"_At first, I think I've heard him wrong, but I know something is wrong when we approach the front door.

"Nothing." Scout says, "I was just saying that since Mercy was originally part of the Careers I went looking for her. She told me she allied with you... and that she feels terrible about what she said and she wants to say sorry."  
><strong><br>**_Yeah right, _I think. But I have to admit that the idea of Mercy Tenebrae being repentant is enough to make me go inside... and it's certainly not because I miss her either.

The tension that I felt outside is ten times worse in here and I can't ignore it now.

"Mercy?" I call, almost running down the hallway. "Mercy!"

The bedroom door is wide open and she's not there. I turn around and go into the only other room she could possible be in.

When I see the blood my stomach drops.

Mercy is the last person I expected to be in this situation and the fact that she is terrifies me. I rush over to her, thinking that maybe if I get there in time everything will disappear and she'll be fine. She _has _to be.

She is lying in the fetal position, hands placed on her stomach. Upon further inspection, I see that the wound is fairly deep, but fixable—hopefully.

"It's going to be okay... alright? I'll just put a bandage on this, okay?" I'm surprised at how frantic my voice sounds. "This might hurt a little."

I take a quilt from the rocking chair, try to place it over the laceration, but she cries and refuses to move her hands.

"Skylark... it's okay... listen..." tears are streaming down her face. "I've... l- lost too much b- blood... and... I j- just... want you to k- know... I don't regret anything... I c- care about y- you."

"No... I'm sorry. I know how you deal with things. I knew you don't mean what you said. If I hadn't left you alone you'd be okay."

She laughs, but it sounds like it's very painful for her. "I would... have died a- anyway. I'm... good at making e- enemies. I'm just... sorry... I made... you upset."

"It's okay." I hold her to my chest. "You'll be okay."

"Sure... it'll only hurt for a little bit, right?"

I kiss her. Her lips taste like blood. "Yeah."

"Skylark, do me a favor."

"Okay."

"Win for me... promise." she looks up at me with a glimmer of that bossy expression of hers.

I consider what she says, but I know I can't promise that, I can't lose my sister too. "Drizzle..."

Mercy's expression darkens. "Just try... for God's sake."

I roll my eyes. "I'll try."

I don't know how long we sit in silence before her cannon fires, I just know that I'm overwhelmed with grief. Why does it have to feel like something has ripped out all of my internal organs. I try to wipe the tears that are falling down my face. Mercy wouldn't want me to cry over her...

"Hey bro," Drizzle says, "are you okay?"

"Sure, I guess." I lie, taking a deep breath.

She sees through it anyway and comes over to give me a hug. "It'll be alright." I look up at her. Since she was gone, she has gained a cut on her arm and a few bruises on her face. Except they all look brand-new... and then I see the bloody knife tucked in her dress.

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>The Dead:<strong>_**

_District 9: Kale Anson_

_District 10: Max Bane_

_District 11: Bengal_

_District 12: Clara Hellebore_

_District 4: Cameron Knight_

_District 4: Fawn Nolan_

_District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo_

_District 5: Ransom Sage_

_District 6: Fallon Zeider_

_District 2: Mercy Tenebrae_

_Okay, I feel like I got a little sappy there... I just couldn't help myself. But oh well. What did you guys think? And I'm excited because I've got the final four picked out. So, out of all the dead tributes (excluding the bloodbaths) who do you miss the most? And who do you think will make it to the end?_


End file.
